Harry Potter: Goblet of Fire
by Ro-Bear7
Summary: Tagline: What if the Triwizard Tournament highlighted more about international cooperation between Wizarding nations? A retelling of Harry's 4th year at Hogwarts. Although he belongs at school, Harry still feels singled out by the Wizarding World. His character and friendships will be tested by his unwanted fame and mysterious, dark forces.
1. Chapter 1 Boredom and Birthdays

Before you read, I only want to remind you the wizarding world, character and everything belong to JK Rowling, and ask your feedback, impressions and comments!  
Aiming to post a new chapter every Tuesday. Thank you for reading!  
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Chapter 1: Boredom and Birthdays

Harry awoke abruptly with an eerie feeling that he'd had the same dream before, but recalling only a residual impression of a strange, dreary manor covered in brittle, weathered ivy. Disregarding the déjà vu, he shook awake.

It was odd, he thought, that he'd dream of a place he'd never been. He'd never vacationed anywhere. A visit to a rural village, even in a dream, was noteworthy.

Putting on his circular glasses, Harry observed the start of a brilliant summer morning and knew that at this time of July there'd be scarcely any breeze down the street of Privet Drive in Little Whinging, Surrey.

Harry was a thoughtful young man of 13- almost 14 -years and, though sitting up in a drab bedroom which possessed a thin bed, white-painted wardrobe, wobbly desk and chair, he was nevertheless an unusual boy. Straightening his bed and retrieving his jeans and t-shirt from the back of the chair, Harry looked almost ordinary, if rather thin. He had startling green eyes and unruly, jet-black hair. Yet the angry, precise lightning bolt scar interrupting his pale forehead seemed to scream that he himself was just as out of place in the pale, little bedroom. He considered the view from his front-facing window, and thought how very much he didn't belong at Privet Drive. Having so far attended three years magical education at Hogwarts' School of a Witchcraft and Wizardry, he felt Hogwarts castle was home.

Passing a moment to indulge in this thought, it was time to get moving. Harry had perfected his morning routine this summer, and things were going quite smoothly compared to other years! Step one had been to inform his guardians of his dear godfather and escaped convict, Sirius Black. Yes, the man was on the run and would be checking in on Harry with periodic letters, by owl post, to make sure Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon didn't need any help taking care of his godson. Vernon and Petunia Dursley had seen enough of fully qualified wizards to know they didn't want a mad escapee wizard popping in for tea. They allowed Harry use of his snowy owl, Hedwig, to deliver letters for this reason alone. He was quite pleased to have a wizard godfather who was in actual fact not a murderer and, unlike the Dursleys, cared very much about Harry. So far, he had wholly enjoyed being ignored by the Dursleys. In speaking to her nephew, Aunt Petunia had taken to using short, clipped tones, as though fewer words would avoid provoking Harry into sending an unsavory report. Dudley, his cousin, also home for the summer, was only interested in eating. His school had put him on a strict diet, but there were no restrictions for him at home. Uncle Vernon would loose a low snarl at the sight of Harry, but left Petunia to manage him. As no one sought him out, he could peacefully pass through the kitchen to the back garden and set about weeding the flower beds undisturbed.

Harry knew his aunt would need him in the kitchen soon to prepare a large fry-up for his oversized and neckless uncle and cousin. Getting to task of his own volition meant fewer screeching commands and barked reprimands, which in itself was quite motivating. He couldn't enjoy the quiet of the garden all day, so 9am found Harry freshened up, wearing a rather large smock and managing heavy pans of sizzling breakfast.

He spared no more thought to Hedwig until his uncle had departed in his company car, Dudley to his vigil at the living room television, and Petunia to wipe down the kitchen. Taking up the laundry, he thought of step two of his plan. As expected, end of term found Harry's school trunk complete with books, wand, quills and ink, tossed spitefully into the cupboard under the stairs. Uncle Vernon despised Harry's "freakish abnormality". He had glared contemptuously at Harry while turning a key in the lock so viciously it may have bent.

But not all his books were in there. Harry and one of his best school friends, Hermione, had worked out that she should take all of his homework things to her home and send them on later. They should be arriving any day. It was not like Hermione to undervalue the importance of getting school work done promptly.

The day proceeded as he'd hoped, with few commands from his aunt, finishing his chores and, after dinner time, retreating to his muggy bedroom to watch for Hedwig.

He had written to Hermione last week:

'Dear Hermione,

I hope your summer's going well! How're your parents? Thanks for helping me out with my books. Do you think you'll be able to send both my 'Magical Drafts and Potions' and 'Intermediate Transfiguration' with Hedwig to get me started?

Hope to hear from you soon. Sincerely,

Harry'

She had replied a few days later:

'Dear Harry,

My summer is going very well, thanks for asking! Mum and Dad are so very pleased to have me home. Of course, I'd like to send you your homework right away, but just now I'm swamped and I'll need a few days to get back to you.

I'll be in touch! Love,

Hermione'

Well, he'd just have to be patient. He'd write to Sirius. Perching at the desk, he addressed the letter and paused, his muggle pen rocking between two fingers. Then he wrote:

'Dear Padfoot,

My summer is going well, thanks to you! The very thought of you visiting our street has the Dursleys scared out of their shoes! Mind you, I hope you've got a hair cut since those Azkaban photos. I'm waiting for Hermione to send on my homework, bored out of my skin! I suppose I shouldn't complain to someone who's in hiding. Don't tell me where you are, or anything. Hope you're doing well. I'll write again when there's anything more to say... or when I'm back to school, whichever's first!

Sincerely,

Harry'

He scrolled it up, ready to send off later with Hedwig, then became very antsy. Where was Hermione? His other friend, Ron, he could count on to lose track of time, enjoying home life and Quidditch games in the meadow. Although, come to think of it, it was odd Ron hadn't sent any notes with his new little owl since school had ended. Harry was being way too suspicious of the two people closest to him. Seized by boredom, he grabbed the notepaper again and started to list charms, complete with pronunciation symbols, one after the next until his chicken scratch lettering filled the page! Next, potions, he thought to himself, we did Pepper Up, Stilling Draught, Shrinking Solution... and the key ingredients... why their properties were crucial to the potion's designation. He wished he had his Book of Potions, of all things. Bored! Finally, while listening variations of valerian preparation, he dozed off, sprawled over his covers.

*Hsssssssss*

"'Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh-"

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"

Harry awoke with a start. A dream, he thought. An old man, and... Wormtail! And Voldemort's voice, Voldemort alive, Voldemort killing someone. Why am I dreaming this?

More importantly, could he remember what the dream Voldemort had said? He realized he'd forgotten to breathe and gasped, pain searing from his throbbing scar.

Harry pulled his cold pillow over his face and tried to recall the dream. He'd dreamt Voldemort and Wormtail were talking about him, in the room of a decrepit mansion. They had killed- he had killed- the other man, who clearly was muggle, as he's known nothing of magic terms, like Quidditch.

"Ha!" Harry laughed to himself, naturally he remembered the part of the dream that had Quidditch in it. But, wherever the men were, it was far from respectable Privet Drive, no doubt, he reassured himself.

He grabbed his letter to Sirius, about to add to it with his concern, then stopped. His falsely imprisoned godfather, on the run and alone, shouldn't be burdened by Harry's trivial scar issues. He was not sure what he expected from Sirius, only that Sirius was... the first adult to look at Harry and see him, the real him, and not the Boy-Who-Lived. It grated on him to be famous for surviving his parents' murder. For defeating 'the most dangerous wizard of the age', as though a one year old could possibly do so. Sirius had been like a brother to James Potter, like an uncle to Harry, scar or no scar. He sighed, the expression in his bright, green eyes punctured with doubt.

Then, having had a thought, he moved his pen deliberately over a new page. His Defense Against the Dark Arts professor of the previous year had advised him on a similar predicament, so wasn't as likely as some to become overexcited by an odd dream.

'Dear Professor Lupin,

I hope you're doing well. I'm writing because my scar hurt, just now, after a dream I had. Only, it was less a dream and more a conversation between Wormy and Voldy, so now I'm wondering- does the scar hurt when he's near, or for some other reason? No one really knows about my curse scar or strange connection to him, but I thought I should let someone know about the dream anyway, and if it was related to some dark activity or other, you can probably find out and give Dumbledore a heads up.'

Harry was feeling more awake now and fearful of rambling in his letter, so finished up,

'If you have any notes to recap our Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons from last year, please send them along with Hedwig. Without something to do, I'll go crazy by September!

Wishing you all the best, sincerely,

Harry'

Harry was starting to draft another letter to Hermione, feeling he might as well, when - "Screech!"

Hedwig! He opened the small window, which she glided toward in a graceful arc, turning impossibly fast to swoop in, and landing atop the wardrobe.

"Welcome home!" Harry crooned, so truly glad to see her that it took a moment to notice she held no letters.

"Have you been to Hermione, Hedwig? What's she up to?" he mumbled.

He fed her some smuggled bacon and owl treats from under his floorboard.

'Well,' he thought, 'time to greet the day.'

This time, he began in the front garden, tilling the dirt until his hands blistered, and tossing weeds neatly in a bucket so not a one would remain to provoke his aunt's ire. When the ground was pristine, he mowed, then swept the walk which was when he heard the phone's trill. He carefully disrobed of his garden attire, washed up.

"How long's the phone been ringing?" he remarked to Dudley.

"Phone? Dunno," Dudley harrumphed.

Harry answered, "Dursley residence, how may I help you?"

"Harry!" said a breathless female voice into the phone, "it's me, Hermione, I'm calling to ask if we can have tea!"

Harry couldn't help but grin.

"Breathe, Hermione," he said, and then, "You've called me! Have tea? What d'you mean?"

"Well," Hermione seemed to be steeling herself, "My parents are going to introduce themselves to your relatives, and request that we be allowed to take you away for your birthday!"

"What, tomorrow?"

Harry was flabbergasted. Dudley was looking sideways at him rather than at the telly, so he probably looked ridiculous.

"When will your aunt be home? We need to do this properly."

"Whhaaattt?!"

Vernon Dursley was vibrating with anger, which never stilled him for long, so Harry was quick to answer and from the other side of the room, with a clear exit.

"Dr. Granger and Dr. Granger, both dentists, are in town with their daughter, Hermione. They've asked to meet you.

"They've asked to speak to you both over the phone first, as they're very big on manners."

He wanted to laugh, mostly out of nerves, and at the odd struggle behind Vernon's eyes as the man tried to reconcile his freak nephew with a respectable family of doctors.

'Rinnnnng.'

'Rinnnnnnnnng.'

"I suppose that will be the Grangers calling, shall I answer?" said Harry. He noted Vernon's almost imperceptible spasm of assent.

The next day was his birthday! Harry awoke, by some auto-magic trigger, the moment it was July 31st. Hedwig made a soft hooting sound, so Harry shhhh'd her, but stroked her beak and asked if she'd like to deliver some letters. Away she went in search of The Marauders, Padfoot and Moony.

This was, by Harry's measure, an odd birthday morning. Just as he'd never once vacationed, he'd also never prepared for guests for his own birthday tea! It was best not to be nervous around the Dursleys, so he spent the morning making sure the home was visitor-clean, periodically mopping up Dudley's crumbs.

The Grangers arrived, dressed their best, very promptly and correctly, which, to Uncle Vernon, meant 'in a respectable car'. Hermione impressed Petunia by sitting politely and silently, and smiling kindly at "her Dudders" who was either struck dumb that Harry had company or was, well, just dumb. Harry felt a complete lack of control and gripped the chair beneath him all through tea, gritting through flashbacks of previous "company". But this was fine, actually, Petunia was clearing up and the Grangers nodding and smiling. So, they'd managed to make it through tea. Although Harry hadn't paid attention to any details, he came to attention in time to hear Mr. Granger speak.

"Harry, do you need a hand collecting your school things?"

Staring from Jeanne Granger, to Doug Granger, to Hermione, to his guardians, Harry was at a loss for words.

"Ah," Vernon Dursley drew himself to full height -Harry cringed- but his uncle just walked to the hallway saying he would bring out the boy's trunk. Eyes wide, Harry realized they'd convinced uncle Vernon that Harry should leave for the summer!

Next to Hermione Granger in the back seat of a Ford Mondeo, the quartet motored away from Privet Drive.

"That was quite uncomfortable for you, Harry," said the bushy-haired girl, knowingly.

Her mum looked sympathetic.

"Hermione told us how best to deal with your guardians. That we should behave pleasantly and calmly so as not startle them. Bad experiences with past visitors?"

Her eyebrow raised exactly how Hermione's did when she was being coy.

"I must say," she continued without waiting for a reply, "that parody of a tea time took me quite back to my college theatre days."

Mr. Granger agreed in a low voice, "They did indeed seem quite taken with those very dull versions of ourselves!"

"Thank you very much, Mr. and Mrs. Granger. I'm sorry, I think I missed where we're going?"

Hermione answered, "It's a surprise, Harry."

Rebounding from an unseemly level of stress, Harry was immediately in the mood to comply. He joked, "is this my surprise?" quite a number of time before they finally reached the Granger home.

"Is this..."

"Surprise!"

The Grangers' front door was magically opened, by magical Ron Weasley... and Fred, George, Ginny, and Molly Weasley. Hermione gripped Harry's arm delightedly.

"You had no idea!" she gloated.

"In we go, now," Mr. Granger commanded in a lighthearted way that made his daughter grin.

Harry's face was numb from grinning too, and his arm was being wrung by each of the Weasleys in turn. No one seemed to expect him to say much, which was nice. It was comforting to just be around his friends.

The chatting had not quite subsided before Ron loudly cried out, "Right! Present!"

Rather than tell him off, all of the red-haired, freckled Weaseleys were nodding in agreement. Surely they hadn't all gotten him gifts? Guilt rose in his chest. The Weasley family was very poor. It was only who Ron stood from the sofa, however.

"Mate, the Quidditch World Cup is next week- we're going!"

He was displaying a ticket with "Harry Potter" embossed on it! The gold seal that was the World Cup logo had Harry's eyes popping from their sockets.

Arthur Weasley, he found out quickly, had been owed a favor by Games and Sports director, Ludo Bagman, so had got them all tickets. Arthur hadn't meant to miss Harry's birthday, but had been summoned "last minute, you know", by a very urgent call regarding an Auror "Alastor Moody" and some... dust bins?

"Not to worry, dear," Mrs. Weasley simpered, "we'll have plenty of time to visit. Speaking of which, we're at your disposal! Where to this week, Harry? Diagon Alley, The Burrow?"

Mrs. Weasley kindly offered to shop for their school things herself, but Hermione for one would not forgo her annual pilgrimage to Flourish & Blotts bookstore! They compromised that Harry would stay a few days at the Grangers to finish up homework, visit Diagon Alley in London for a shopping day, then back to the Burrow before the World Cup. Hermione asked Ron if he'd like to stay, too, since his home was full to bursting with brothers and, of course, he would want to complete all of his school assignments!

"I suppose," she said worriedly, "we might finish everything in two days if we really focused."

"I think I'll catch you up in Diagon Alley on Thursday, rather," he said ruefully, with a glance at Harry, who nodded.

The shorter boy was fine with it, and made to rescue Ron from Hermione's judgement.

"Sure, you want to visit your brothers while they're in the country. I can't wait to meet Bill and Charlie at the World Cup!"

Ron's eldest brothers were graduated from Hogwarts, Bill to be a Curse-breaker for Gringotts Bank and Charlie to study dragons in Romania.

"We'll tell Arthur you said hello. See you both in London, dears!"

And with that, the Grangers and Harry waved goodbye to the Weasleys, who hopped into the fireplace. Green flames indicated this fireplace had been connected to 'the floo network'. This was uncommon for a muggle abode, but was obviously the best way to keep the Statute of Secrecy. Harry wondered how they'd all travel to the Cup.

Hermione and Harry debated magical transportation, wondering what Apparition felt like, and whether the infamous 'Knight Bus' was the only public vehicle catering to Wizarding Europe.

"I honestly wouldn't mind flying a broom everywhere, if it were allowed," said Harry, thinking of the nauseating floo sensation.

Hermione shook her bushy hair and made a face.

"Not me, buses before brooms."

The two relaxed and studied, a combination only possible with Hermione's supervision! Her parents busied in the background, jumping in with comments from time to time, or to ask what in the world was a hippogriff. At first, as they had laid out all their books and papers, Hermione was aflutter with concerns.

"I really couldn't send your books, you know Harry, or risk the Dursleys catching on. We did so want our plan to work!"

Harry was fine with it, but asked her, with an innocent head tilt, whether she might make it up to him by checking over his Potions work.

Most of the following day was spent on the Grangers' back porch, quizzing one another on counter-jinxes and hexes (Harry) and Charms (Hermione), while drinking iced tea. Next, they worked scrawling out a few feet of parchment on asphodel in various potions which they were to encounter during their fourth year at Hogwarts. It would be a nice change for Harry to feel prepared for the new school term. It was a bit keen of them, he knew, to do so much revising before school, but he was just glad to be with a friend, amid the pleasant chatter of her parents, and to be welcome.


	2. Chapter 2: Galleons from Gringotts

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A Quick note: Of course, as a "retelling" you understand all these characters, plots, and everything wizarding world belong to JK Rowling. This is my first fanfiction so I really want feedback: comments, suggestions, and your personal impressions are very much appreciated!  
I will post a new chapter each Tuesday. So excited. Here is a second chapter.  
*********************************Thank you for reading****************************

Chapter 2: Galleons from Gringotts

Thursday arrived, along with Arthur who, after Harry had breakfasted with the Grangers, floo'd them all to The Leaky Cauldron in London.

Ron had already been to the bank with his mum that morning but, having missed his best friends, he decided to join Harry and the Grangers. Gringotts Bank was through to the opposite end of Diagon Alley. Their group was led to the literal alley behind the Leaky Cauldron by Tom, the bartender. They proceeded through the shape-shifting, brick barrier to achieve the street beyond, bypassing bustles of purposeful pedestrians. Ron grinned at his favourite shop fronts. Quality Quidditch Supplies had new versions of the Chuddly Cannons robes at a discount! Hermione walked between her two parents and Ron mostly tuned out her jabber about the importance of attending an international wizarding event like the Quidditch World Cup. He spared a moment to feel horrified that any factor other than the game itself could be of importance! He also smirked fondly at Harry's distracted gawping. Harry didn't get into Wizarding London very often, and Ron knew everything from robe fittings to banking, but especially Quidditch, intrigued his best friend. Proceeding up the solid, tilted stairs, Ron thought even the Grangers must sense just how impermeable was the white marble bank. The stalwart institution towered over the entire street from this view. When they approached the entry, bronze doors opened with soundless ease. The red-haired boy observed with indifference the cavernous entryway and the long row of stately goblins assisting customers. He was surprised, however, when the Grangers led them over to a much lower desk off to the side, where a young goblin sat next to a sign reading 'British-Muggle Exchange Only'. Ron paid attention now, as Harry asked the Grangers about the cost to exchange muggle for wizard money. Hermione, usually quick with these kinds of facts, had gone mute with an odd, scheming look growing in her eye.

"Dad," she rather determinedly interjected, "Shall we have Harry withdraw from his own vault, and exchange money with us? See, I was thinking Harry may need some muggle essentials; he'd benefit from having the pounds we would have exchanged for today's shopping!"

Harry looked confused. Doug and Jeanne carefully considered their daughter, then glanced from the young goblin teller to Harry.

Jeanne said, "I can't see why not, but it's really up to Harry."

Doug said to Harry, "I'd be happy to see you around London as well as Diagon Alley today, Harry, if you'd like."

Before he could make any sort of reply, or really decide if he'd like to enter muggle London, Hermione was piping up again.

"Ron, tell Harry he must! I really think you ought to see around London, too, or you'll be as wrong-footed as most wizards are around muggles. And we have my parents with us now!"

"Hmm, alright then. Harry, what d'you reckon?" Ron turned to the dark haired boy.

"Alright then," Harry shrugged.

They withdrew Harry's bag of galleons, sickles and gnuts and, with the help of a goblin named Ramknock, divided it in two, adding the Grangers' notes to Harry's pile of gold.

Hermione quickly submitted to the logical view that books should be last, being the heaviest of all purchases. Jeanne's suggestion was to visit Madame Malkin's robe shop on the way out to Charing Cross Road. She, Jeanne, would take their lists for refills of school supplies.

"That reminds me!" Ron said absently, shaking himself away from thoughts of quidditch supplies.

"Mum gave me your list too, Harry. She's getting my refills, Mrs. Granger, so don't mind me. Y'know, Mum said something to me about buying new robes, now I think on it.

"Blimey, she was right!" he scoffed, handing a list to Harry. "The new list has 'dress robes' as a requirement!"

Harry eyed the note in silence. It read, 'All students fourth year and above require traditional dress robes, any color, must be modest and bear no logos'. Harry had to admit to himself, though it was a new idea to buy clothes unique to him, it might be nice to choose something for himself which fit him properly.

Madame Malkin was a squat woman, with whispy hair, fabric thrown haphazard over her shoulders, and needles pinned all over the thick sleeve of her work robes. She looked particularly bright-eyed, and they overheard her gabbing with another parent.

"...dress robes for 4 years of Hogwarts students, well, I'm very grateful...so many Hogwarts students thinking of me!"

It was a good thing they'd arrived early in the day! Hermione selected her robes, then joined the boys to help speed their choosing along.

"Don't get matching colors," she warned, "and no, Ron, no velvet. Try this, Harry."

"Hermione. It's purple." Harry glared accusingly as Ron spluttered with glee.

"Don't be thick, she can get you any color!"

Hermione selected a style for each Ron and Harry, who quickly gave up trying to tell the difference, and the boys just had to request a color. Hermione helped again.

"Black and dark green lining for Harry's, and navy blue for Ron's-"

"Her-my-nee," Ron whined, "navy blue's the magical maintenance uniform color! Do I want to look like a janitor?"

Hermione glared judgementally.

"So a color is out of the question because it's associated with a job, do you think? Could you be more condescending? I should make you wear these lace robes in maroon!"

Ron backpedaled, immediately out-matched, and Harry noticed Madame Malkin was looking put out at Ron's comparison before they both bestowed their compliments on the new costumes!

"I've never had such nice robes," said Ron, approvingly.

"Never had such nice clothes- period!" Harry agreed.

Hermione beamed at them all.

Out in muggle London, the street unraveled beyond their view, bursting with vehicles and such a tessellation of commuters, shoppers, workers and locals as to overwhelm the senses. Hermione smirked at Ron who covered his ears as a double-decker bus flew by their spot on the pavement.

"I like the noise," an enlivened Harry explained, when she caught his eye.

Doug Granger led the three down Charing Cross Road, knowing the nearest, and Hermione's preference, would be the large discount designer store.

"See, Ron? The buses don't come onto the pavement! Though, don't get too close to the edge either!" she ammended hastily, as they navigated bodies and buildings.

Hermione entered the clothing store with a sense of purpose. Primarily, her intention was to focus the shopping on Harry. Fourteen was getting to the age where ill-fitted hand-me-downs were not going to be appropriate, yet Harry was extremely self-conscious anytime people focused on him. She intended to fixate on Ron instead, most vociferously, while having her father quietly advise Harry on the muggle shop items. It was not difficult to spar with Ron over what he considered to be 'ridiculously muggle' clothing. She noticed occasionally that Harry looked a little lost but Doug was subtly directing her uncertain friend to choose from selections of slacks, shirts, shoes and socks which would fit in well with his usual school attire. Hermione sidled up to them not much later with Ron in tow. He'd been too goofy with a stack of hats on display, and she decided he should help Harry, instead.

"How's it going, Harry? Ron," she turned and glared, "recommend something for Harry to wear to the World Cup."

"Uhhhh..." the red-haired boy hedged.

"Don't Wizards just wear casual jeans and trainers?" asked Harry.

"Sure!" said Ron, "Why not? They'd work for playing quidditch in the summers, too. Get something warm though, we'll be there all bloody day."

Promptly chiding Ron's language, Hermione then turned to Harry. "Do you like color, Harry? Because, you wear a lot of... not exactly white, but..."

He looked where she'd gestured.

"Oh yeah, I'm not entirely sure which color this once was. It was Dudley's from, I'm guessing, age eight." He shrugged, unconcerned. "It might have lost something."

Ron snickered.

"Color, then!" Hermione declared. "It'll make you look less pale, promise."

She glared at Ron.

"RON, on the other hand should wear fewer bright colors, their horrible with your freckles!"

She had sounded serious, but tossed a patterned shirt, the color of strawberry icecream, at her friend and then peeled into laughter.

Leaving the store, Harry felt weary with making decisions. Ron certainly seemed antsy.

"Keep close. Let's take a walk and see what we find," said Doug Granger.

So they walked on in mute observation of the street and signs around them. One even boasted a 'Magic Shop'. Harry thought 'how fitting', and wondered if it was run by wizards, squibs or muggles.

"What in Merlin's..." Ron was enunciating poorly and gesturing, "Mr. Granger, what- I mean, does that store sell...sounds?"

For the first time, Harry heard Mr. Granger laugh, his square jaw softening with a wide smile.

"'Sounds of the Universe' is a record store! Come, why don't I show you?"

The three kids trailed their guide into a tall store front that looked like a small-scale library, even moreso because the primary merchandise appeared to be very flat sheaves lining rows and rows of shelves.

Doug had just finished showing Ron, to Harry and Hermione's boundless amusement, that each "record", as he called them, contained a song, or a few songs, that could be "played" on a particular machine. Then they all four proceeded to browse through the oaken shelves which displayed sleeves and sleeves of records. Not knowing many musical artists by name, Harry still enjoyed perusing cover art and reading the artists' names, some aloud to Hermione.

"The Buggles," he read. Hermione laughed.

"Hey, Harry," said Ron, holding up a violacious sleeve depicting a very flashy artist, "if you had bought the purple robes you could look JUST like this."

Harry spluttered in laughter.

They froze when speakers they hadn't noticed made a static-y sounding crinkle, and looked up to see Hermione's dad observing them. Music notes reverberated, almost tangible in the air around them. A chiming, snapping melody followed, joined by a man's voice.

"Under pressure..." the singer feelingly canted.

Doug smiled as the snapping faded out to static.

"Good choice, Dad!" Hermione said, pleased.

Doug, smiling his thanks to the proprieter, explained, "I thought hearing it was better than any explanation. So, Ron?"

"Brilliant," Ron responded, hoarsely.

Next, Hermione brought over "The Buggles" album Harry had liked, after which they listened to a song Doug called "Jeannie's song", but was really 'Whole Wide World' by someone called 'Reckless Eric'. A vivacious song was played next, which had Hermione swaying her shoulders to the beat, nudging against Ron and Harry's shoulders so they were too; when the lyrics crooned "You're grown (so grown up)", she twirled around her dad, happily. Doug decided to buy a few albums. He could see the kids needed some lunch. They all said thank you and smiled on their way out, thinking how much fun it would be to run a music store.

Back at the Leaky Cauldron, Harry, Ron and Hermione tucked into the special, split pea and bacon soup with buttered rolls, hungrily. Mr. and Mrs. Granger then allowed them another hour to browse Diagon Alley's bookshop before it was time to surrender them over to the Weasleys.


	3. Chapter 3: The Burrow

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Before you read, I only want to remind you the wizarding world and characters belong to JK Rowling, and ask your feedback, impressions and comments!  
Aiming to post a new chapter every Tuesday. Thank you for reading!  
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Chapter 3: The Burrow

Harry stepped out of the green floo flames, following Ron into The Burrow's den. The Burrow was a circular home, with a built-on kitchen and additional rooms piled one on top of the other as though the home had grown along with the Weasley family over the years. In Harry's opinion, it was a very cozy living space. What he loved most was the warmth and camaraderie within! Surrounded by Ron's brothers and Ginny, no one felt nervous or unwelcome here, not even Percy, who often droned on about the intricacies of his first job at The Ministry. Hedwig immediately hooted to announce her presence from the roost at the corner of their crowded dining room. Harry moved surreptitiously to detach two scrolls from her leg.

"Well done, Hedwig," he whispered, massaging her tufty head. She looked at him sideways, pleased with the attention. Ron and Hermione had reason to be curious about Harry's letters, for they, along with Lupin and Dumbledore were the only ones who knew Sirius Black was innocent and in touch with his godson. He shot them a significant glance to say that he'd fill them in soon.

Mrs. Weasley fed the lot of them a lavish feast that evening, made up of good things: potatoes, roast beef, candied carrots and treacle pudding. Assembled around long tables in the back garden, Ron's grown brothers, Bill and Charlie bantered passionately with Fred and George over the World Cup. Harry felt utterly peaceful under the starry summer sky, listening sleepily to Charlie's voice booming,

"It HAS to be Ireland! They've got seven brilliant players. Bulgaria hasn't got a chance."

To complete the evening's perfection, Hedwig lifted over the orchard to settle herself gracefully on the back of Hermione's chair. She nipped at Harry's sleeve so he'd feed her rinds from his plate.

It was soon time for bed. Back inside, the household was a flurry of activity, the hall stairs tripping with redheads, toppling laundry and such cacophony that Harry suspected Mrs. Weasely's vociferous instructions might have been magically magnified. Her efficient direction resulted in everyone's packing, washing, sorting and, finally, in hugging them all good night.

Waiting for Ron to return from brushing his teeth, Harry sat on a cot and read through each scroll once.

Dear Harry, (Professor Lupin had scribed)

I was glad to hear from you! I apologize for my delayed response. I have been operating rather on the quiet, these days. I must say that, had I not recently been in touch with Headmaster Dumbledore, I'd have been worried to hear about such an oddly timed dream, and the pain in your scar. Of course, you are correct, your scar is quite outside the normal understanding of curse side-effects. That being said, I have been overhearing strange whispers and rumors circulating the outskirts of wizarding society: a missing person case and an unsolved attack, both closely related to The Ministry. There have been suspicions on the rise that an upcoming international event may provide a forum for dark wizards to gather and, shall we say, make a public show for their cause. As you are always surrounded either your family or the Weasley family, I beg of you not to worry over it. Padfoot sends his regards by my hand, as we received Hedwig's conveyance in tandem. He is keeping safe. At his bequest, I have attached the second scroll, containing suggestions for hexes and jinxes which he says are "fantastically useful" for a fourth year Hogwarts student such as yourself, and he begs that you keep your head while perpetrating any roguery! He'll write you again soon. Please do keep me apprised of your year, Harry!

Yours most sincerely,

Moony'

The list of "suggestions", courtesy of Sirius, was indeed brilliant. He wondered if he ought to shelter Hermione from it, but then reasoned that would be impossible if not impractical. She was the best at wandwork of the three! It remained for him to decide whether he'd let them in on the development with his scar. That they might look at him funny itched at the back of his mind, nevertheless he recalled they had faced worse together. They were in it with him, even if they could do nothing to help.

Ron returned and when Hermione looked in, Harry quickly described the dreams that had commenced with summer. He described the sense of déjà vu followed by his scar twinging, but that Lupin wasn't concerned. He tossed them the scrolls in confirmation. Ron was quite impressed with the improvised hex guide, Hermione more so that Lupin and Dumbledore were in touch.

"I mean," she elaborated, "he's no longer teaching, and Professor Dumbledore must be quite busy, so I wonder if they have a joint endeavor?"

There was nothing much to debate, however, and Hermione left for her cot in Ginny's room. The Burrow was still abuzz with activity as the boys, aloft in Ron's attic bedroom, succumbed to exhaustion.


	4. Chapter 4: The Portkey

You get a second chapter this week, because Chapter 3 was short!

******************************************************************************  
Before you read, I only want to remind you the wizarding world and characters belong to JK Rowling, and ask your feedback, impressions and comments!  
Aiming to post a new chapter every Tuesday. Thank you for reading!  
*******************************************************************************

Chapter 4: The Portkey

Next thing Harry knew, they were awake, dressed and had groggily shoved off in the direction of a nearby hill. Ron appeared zombiefied and Hermione was uncharacteristically quiet. The twins, however, were alert and sprightly! Upon arriving at The Burrow, Harry had learned that his birthday surprise had nicely covered over the arrival of Fred and George's fifth year O.W.L. test results. They had not been able to hide this from Mrs. Weasley for long. The twins were now singing Harry's praises, for their Mum hadn't the heart to make Harry suffer missing his friends during his 'birthday gift', even if the twins had failed over half their O.W.L.s!

Through the dew of the morning, another pair could be seen, waving from the top of the hill. As the group gained the hill, Fred and George hitched Harry by the arms, grinning like his very own big brothers, so he swung up the last incline.

"For anyone who hasn't yet met," Mr. Weasley said in an easy voice, "I'll introduce our neighbors, Amos Diggory and Cedric! These are mine, Ginny, Ronald, George and Fred, a friend of ours, Hermione Granger-"

"And this," Fred announced, "is our guest of honor-"

"The one-" piped George.

"The only..."

"Harry! Potter!" Both boys beamed.

"Boys!" said Mr. Weasley, looking exhausted. "D'you have the portkey there, Cedric?"

Cedric, a tall sixth year Hufflepuff, was dressed convincingly muggle today in boots and blue jeans. He grinned at the group and held up a soiled, old workboot. Hermione and Harry shook hands with Cedric and his father. George and Fred, however, glared at Cedric, not having forgiven the Hufflepuff seeker for winning last year's Quidditch match against Gryffindor.

Traveling by portkey, Harry and Hermione were coached, was as simple as touching the charmed object at the pre-determined time of departure. The tricky part was, in fact, being authorized to perform this charm in accordance with regulations of travel which protected groups from being spotted by muggles. Furthermore, to hide and then locate the charmed object was often difficult, as it would be necessarily well-disguised. They'd all gathered around the mangy boot when Harry felt an unwelcome tug at his breakfast and was sped at a sickening speed through space to reappear in a glistening golden field.

"Welcome," said a weary gentleman, who held a watch on a gold chain. He was wearing a kilt and a rather fuzzy grey poncho. Another man who collected the sodden boot, formerly a portkey, was inexpertly dressed in a tweed suit and thigh-high, yellow galoshes. The Weasleys were directed down one path while the Diggorys were sent down another, departing with a friendly wave and a "See you later!" from Cedric.

Harry had to admire Mr. Weasely's preparation. The group, with each member lugging a rucksack and wearing casual jackets, could easily be taken for muggle campers. This was the idea, as they soon approached a small log cabin where the campsite's proprietor named Mr. Roberts greeted them cheerily, clutching a clip board and change purse.

"Morning!" called Arthur, "We're the Weasleys for seven o'clock."

Once the pre-arranged camping fee was sorted in muggle notes, they were directed down a tree-lined path to find campsite number fifty-two. This meant passing by a fair few other tent sites on the way to the edge of the woods. Harry had never been camping, but he had a feeling muggle campsites didn't usually get many tents with smoking chimneys, trestles of ivy, or courtyards complete with running fountains. Mr. Weasley huffed at this, but it wasn't his job today to monitor indecent violations crossing muggle items with the magical.

Hermione looked pleased altogether with their grassy site and the two tents Mr. Weasley had procured for the event. She confidently set about showing them how to properly pitch a tent using poles and pegs. Undaunted, they made quick work of it together. The last one to duck inside, Harry drew a sharp breath. What had externally appeared to be a canvas, two-man tent was, within, a two bedroom flat complete with stove and dining room! The crocheted pillow-covers and rugs reminded Harry vividly of his neighbor, Mrs. Figg, who lived with her fourteen cats and watched him occasionally if the Dursleys went away. Not even a magical tent could contain the swelling anticipation for what was to come! Hermione began to assist Mr. Weasley with a small utility pouch she'd thought to bring containing multiple tools and fire-starting implements. Ron and Harry headed out to fetch water, in possession of buckets and a simple, drawn map. Excitement was tangible throughout the moorland which was dotted with innumerable tents and abounding with energetic voices.

While waiting in a queue for the nearest water spout, Ron and Harry started to meet with people they knew from school.

"Ron, Harry!"

Seamus Finnegan appeared with Dean Thomas, fellow Gryffindors from school.

"Where are you camping, then?" Seamus asked Ron.

"Just up by the wood. Dad reckons we're as close as we can get to the stadium!"

"Wicked. We're up the path. Seamus' mother has our tent covered in shamrocks, you can see it there!"

In fact, that whole section of tents was awash with bright green. The boys laughed and established that all were rooting for Ireland's victory. The line moved ahead, and they finally stepped away with two buckets full to the brim with freezing cold water. Making their way back through the city of tents Harry heard his name called and looked up to see his former Quidditch Team Captain, Oliver Wood. They were dragged over so Harry could be introduced to Wood's parents as the best seeker Hogwarts had seen in a decade. They were sufficiently impressed to find out Oliver had just been signed to the reserve team for Puddlemere United.

"Wow," said Ron.

"Congratulations!" said Harry. Wood deserved it; he lived and breathed quidditch!

Their conversation was interrupted the next moment by an obtrusive row nearby.

"Just put these on, Archie, there's a good chap. You can't be walking around in that, creating issues with the muggles."

"I bought this in a Muggle shop, you know," the old man, Archie, argued stubbornly. "muggles wear them!"

"Muggle women wear them, Archie, not the men, they wear these," said the ministry wizard brandishing a pair of trousers.

"I'm never putting those on," said Archie indignantly, "I like a healthy breeze 'round my privates, thanks."

Harry, Ron and Oliver gasped with laughter! The former two waved goodbye, anxious to escape the small crowd attracted by Archie's loud-voiced protestations. They rather stumbled into Cedric, in their haste, who was conversing with a group of Hogwarts students.

"Sorry, mate," said Ron.

The group included another Hogwarts Quidditch player, Cho Chang, who was chatting with the tall Hufflepuff.

"Cedric, you have to play on the Hufflepuff Team, you know," said Cho, "It's no fun winning if we haven't been up against the best players! I think we might be fairly equally matched."

Cho's girlfriends giggled nearby, as she playfully shouldered the tall Hufflepuff's arm.

"I'm off actually, but nice to see you all again. My dad's waiting for me. Later!" said Cedric, hurriedly, with a quick smile and a nod to Harry and Ron.

They were about to make their way again, when Cho noticed Harry.

"Oh, Harry, been playing much Quidditch this summer?"

The Ravenclaw Team's seeker was petite and very pretty, with sleek, black hair. She was peeking up at him through thick eyelashes, and ignoring Ron completely.

"No, not really. Who are you all supporting for the World Cup?" Harry asked, a bit flustered.

Cho ignored the question and half-turned.

"Girls, don't you want to invite Harry Potter into our tent for some drinks?" she asked with a grin.

In a second, Ron had stepped in front of Harry.

"Why don't you go wash Merlin's saggy Y-fronts, yeah? C'mon, Harry," Ron said coldly.

Harry quickened his pace to match Ron's and was surprised when Cho waved her fingers after him. Ron was still irritated, so to change the subject Harry pointed out a group of unfamiliar teenagers their age.

"Who do you suppose they are?"

"I expect they're from another school in Europe, then. I think one is called Durmstrang, because Bill had a pen-friend once. Sent Bill a cursed hat when he couldn't afford to visit. Shriveled Bill's ears."

Harry laughed, but was really amazed that he'd never considered there might be other wizarding schools around the world! The scale of The Quidditch World Cup served to demonstrate how widespread, yet hidden, was the Wizarding community.


	5. Chapter 5: The World Cup

******************************************************************************  
Before you read, I only want to remind you the wizarding world and characters belong to JK Rowling, and ask your feedback, impressions and comments!  
Aiming to post a new chapter every Tuesday. Thank you for reading!  
*******************************************************************************

Chapter 5: The Quidditch World Cup

Back at the campsite, Harry and Ron found Percy, Bill and Charlie lounging around the burning fire, having apparated in during their absence. Mr. Weasley had run off to help Ludo Bagman for a moment. The boys ducked into the main tent with their water buckets where they discovered Fred, George, Hermione and Ginny gathered around a table. Their hushed whispers subsided briefly, and they waved Ron and Harry into the kitchen.

"What's up?" Harry asked.

"Oh, only that I've just found out what G and Freddie here have been up to when not studying for O.W.L.s!" said Ginny, looking positively gleeful.

"Top-secret, yeah?" Fred eyed them, then grinned. "Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes!"

"Sorry?"

"We're opening a joke shop-"

"- an emporium, really, for all things interruptive and whimsical."

"Already set with a product list, we've just got to work on the recipes for our trick-sweets," George explained. "But what's really holding us back is lack of funds-"

"So, all things considered, we thought it most… expedient that we should place a wager on the match tonight!" finished Fred.

"Hrmm," Hermione grumbled, "Wouldn't your parents be upset that you gambled your savings? It's quite risky."

This instigated a lively argument, with each reasonable point countered by, "Skiving Snackboxes, Hermione!", "Ton-Tongue-Toffees!" and "Fainting Fancies!", as the twins took their own cleverness for winning the argument handily.

Arthur returned with Ludo Bagman, who was friendly enough. The boyant, sandy-haired man had the build of a former athlete, having played for the Winbourne Wasps before retiring to Deptartment of Magical Games of Sports at The Ministry. He greeted Harry by pumping his hand vigorously and grinning. The group roasted lunch over the fire, and drank hot chocolate made from the kettle inside. Bagman conversed discreetly with the twins, who scribbled on a notepad and swapped pieces of parchment, looking pleased.

"Thanks for the World Cup tickets, Mr. Bagman!"

"My pleasure, lads," the man winked cheekily.

A wizard in a tailored suit, with neatly combed grey hair marched up to the campsite looking irritated.

"Ludovic, I have been looking for you," he said in a harrassed voice.

Ludo smiled at the newcomer and hopped up from his fireside seat.

"I'd better be off now, since I'm commentating for the match!" he said cheerfully.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Crouch!" said Percy, who had hopped up like his seat was on fire to greet his boss.

"Oh, hello, Weatherby," said Crouch distractedly. "Please enjoy the match, everyone."

Mr. Crouch exited abruply. Ludo waved.

"See you in the box!"

The sky dimmed with evening's approach until it was finally time to proceed to their seats in the stadium.

Harry pulled on his new jacket, which had a pocket for his wand and warded off the chill breeze. The pathway was lit with lanterns now. Likewise illuminated wizards flitted throughout the crowd offering, "Programs! Flags! Rosettes! Bargain!"

One saleswizard was offering a wide tray of bronze binoculars, only with spinning dials aplenty on either side of the viewers.

"What do these do?" Harry inquired.

The wizard exclaimed, "Zoom in to see faces! Instant replay! Captions players, names and plays! Bargain, 10 galleons!"

"Three, please," Harry said, handing over 30 galleons. "We won't need programs, I reckon, having these."

"Thanks, Harry!" Hermione said.

she purchased three Irish flags from a nearby cart. Ron looked undecided and very uncomfortable that his friends were buying for him. He'd saved only five of his own galleons for spending, so it wasn't as though he could pay them back. He was fully distracted however, by a cart with animated models of each member of the Irish and Bulgarian Quidditch Teams! Passing over the Irish models, he purchased a meager, clumsy-looking figurine, eagerly showing it off to the others.

"Take a look, it's Viktor Krum, the Bulgarian Seeker! Only 17 years old, he is, and the fastest in the league," said Ron, sounding fully in awe. "I can't believe we're here."

Nothing compared to their awe in viewing the curved, golden walls of the stadium, which Arthur said could house ten cathedrals! All nine of them paused to take in the colossal interior as they met with a ticket-collecting witch who then pointed them up an aisle of stairs.

The crowd dispersed to either side, and still the group climbed and climbed. Finally, they reached the top box, which already seated Ludo Bagman and various dignitaries. Ron, Harry, Hermione, and Ginny were first to file into the front of two rows in the box.

The feverish excitement in the stadium was highly infectious. Laughter and snatches of singing carried on around them. Harry examined the oval, velvet-like field, three hoops at either end, and a gigantic scoreboard directly in their view. The whole stadium glowed with golden light. He heard an odd squeaking and automatically turned to notice with some surprise that there was a tiny house-elf in the rear row. The house-elf was hiding her face in its spindly arms, bat-like ears shaking, and wore a light blue pillowcase. A few seats to the side, a group of Bulgarian dignitaries were looking discomfited by its antics. Further along, Mr. Bagman, Minster Fudge and the Irish dignitaries were conversing, oblivious to the house-elf.

"Excuse me, are you alright?" Harry asked the elf.

She blinked tearfully (he thought it was a she), and replied, "Sir, Winky is alright, thanking you, but Winky is afraid of heights, so she is wishing the match would be ending soon!"

"Hi Winky, I'm Harry Potter."

Hermione was looking over at Winky now, too.

"Hi, I'm Hermione. Winky, if you're afraid of heights, why are you here?"

"Miss, Winky is saving a seat for her master and must stay put! Please pay Winky no more mind," she squealed, disappearing again behind her tiny hands.

Before Harry could wonder further at the house-elf, he was interrupted by a sneer.

"Well, well, if it isn't Potter, his blood traitors, and a house-elf, all lined up in a row. Fitting."

Harry didn't need to turn to know who had spoken. It was Draco Malfoy, Harry's rival and also a fourth year at Hogwarts, whose father treated the Weasleys and Harry alike with blatant animosity.

"Hello, git," Ron said calmly.

Draco's mother and father, both thin, blonde, and elegantly cloaked, were preoccupied with murmering unctuous flattery to Minister Fudge's guests. They were summoning Draco to introductions. He threw back his pompous shoulders and managed one more contemptuous sneer aimed at Harry, Ron and Hermione.

The match began. Ludo Bagman cast a charm on his throat, 'Sonorus!' His voice now echoed throughout the entire stadium. Flags were vigorously waving, and as Bagman announced each Irish team member, Harry and the others forgot everything but the fourteen blurs of green and scarlet. The quaffle was tossed so quickly that Harry, using the omnioculars could just barely keep up. Finally, Moran, an Irish chaser scored, and green sections of the crowd rippled with uproarious cheers!

"Are those Leprechauns?" Hermione shouted.

"Indeed they are," answered Arthur, "and I believe the Bulgarian team has brought a national mascot as well. Veela! When Bulgaria scores, best cover your ears."

Yes, there were mascots at the Bulgarian end too, but rather than dancing brightly in the sky, the Veela were arranged in a line below, eyes black and beaky faces looking terribly angry. They were flinging fire, vindictively, toward the center of the pitch.

Ireland was three goals ahead before Bulgaria scored. The Leprechauns arranged themselves into a dirty word in the sky over the goal posts. Harry had forgotten Arthur's warning, so was caught off guard as the row of Veela below let out a chorus of enchanting song, while a silvery light extended from their long hair to envelope them entirely. They looked unearthly and captivating. Harry shook his head stupidly, trying to clear it, and noticed Ron leaning way forward over the rail to get closer.

"Whoops," said Mr. Weasley, covering Ron's ears himself, and the game had already moved ahead. They were careful to ignore the Veela songs thereafter, and the match really was fascinating! Ireland's chasers were superb, never doing the same play twice. The beaters for both sides moved so quickly, it was nearly impossible to see the darkest ball, unless it managed to unseat a player. The snitch hadn't made an appearance at all, and Ireland was 200 points ahead when Harry, Ron and Ginny gasped. The smallest scarlet-clad player, Viktor Krum, had dropped out of the air, faster than their eyes could follow and was surely headed to crash, when he leveled out, pulling into a controlled swerve! Lynch, Ireland's seeker, having seen Krum's dive and followed, was unable to pull out in time and crashed into the velvety pitch below. That was a blow to the Irish, though they mopped him up and the game proceeded. Charlie was cheering himself hoarse. He had been right to claim Ireland was the better team, and with 250 points they were sure to take the cup. A voluminous roar mounted through the crowd as Krum swooped down from high above, lazily looping the stadium. He'd caught the snitch, ending the game with Ireland still ahead by 100 points!

Harry goggled at the display in wonderment, hardly believing it was over. Amid the shocked spectators, only Fred and George were grinning widely, as they turned to look behind them at Ludo Bagman, who was still commentating to the stadium. They gave the man a big 'thumbs up'!


	6. Chapter 6: The Mark

******************************************************************************  
Before you read, I only want to remind you the wizarding world and characters belong to JK Rowling, and ask your feedback, impressions and comments!  
Aiming to post a new chapter every Tuesday. Thank you for reading!  
*******************************************************************************

Chapter 6: The Mark

As the crowds filtered out of the stadium, everyone was talking loudly about the match. Harry noticed vaguely that Winky had left the box. Ludo Bagman, too, had already disappeared into the crowds. When they reached the wide open air, Arthur led them all in the direction of their camp, but he stopped abruptly at a sudden burst of bright light! The wood around them was bathed in eerie, green light with some sort of smoke appearing over the trees, and a few shrieks unexpectedly rent the air.

Ron looked horrified, Hermione confused, and Ginny terrified. Harry instinctively grasped for his wand, but the inner jacket pocket was empty!

"Fred, George, forget our tent and take the others across the field! Charlie, Perce, Bill, let's go," Arthur yelled, leading the two young men into the crowd without hesitation.

The others followed Fred and George at half a run, but something caught Harry in the leg and he stumbled and hit the dirt path hard. He hadn't tripped on anything that he could see. Quickly glancing around, Harry registered, several meters away, a lone Draco Malfoy had also been felled. Harry scrambled up. As he turned on the spot, he felt a rush of hot air pass his head. Who was shooting spells at him? Malfoy had also jolted himself to his feet. Grimacing and apparently realizing his parents were nowhere near, he dashed straight into the woods. Harry made a split-second choice himself that the woods provided better cover. He still saw no one near enough to have hexed him among the rush of exiting spectators. He followed Malfoy at a run. The boy was all in black, but the green light from above caught his incandescent white-blonde hair, so Harry kept pace. Draco saw him following, and yelled, "What are you doing?"

"Over... there!" Harry panted, pointing at a thicker patch of trees across the clearing, and the two reached it.

Just then, Malfoy's leg caught fire, sending him sprawling into a tree looking shocked.

Nearly falling in his hurry, Harry swiped his own jacket off and covered Malfoy's leg to put out the flames. The smell of burning and sounds of a panicked crowd through the trees were highly distressing. Both boys tried to catch their breath.

"What are you…" Malfoy started, but Harry shushed him.

"Listen." Someone nearby was breathing hard, too. Harry heard someone speaking a spell, and dodged behind the tree. Reaching around, he pulled the other boy by the arm. He wished he wasn't wandless.

Several loud popping sounds startled him the next moment as they were surrounded by several adults, all pointing their wands at the clearing. Someone saw Harry and Draco at the foot of their tree.

"Someone's here!" they cried out.

"Harry?" It was Arthur Weasely, with Bill, Charlie and Amos Diggory, too.

"What happened, Harry?" Arthur asked, as Charlie got to Malfoy first and pulled out his wand to assess the extent of the burn.

"These boys conjured the Dark Mark?" asked Amos, with a scoff, "How is that possible?"

"Of course they haven't!" Arthur answered, "You didn't see anyone else in the area, boys?"

Malfoy shook his head no, with eyes wide.

"I heard someone breathing, over there at the edge of the clearing," Harry said.

"They must have disapparated," Amos said, disappointed. "Well, doesn't hurt to check. 'Homenum Revelio!'"

A light pulsed in the other direction, then faded. The men rushed over.

With a gasp, Amos cried, "Why, it's an elf! Elf, why are you here? Merlin, she's holding a wand."

"There's another wand here, Amos."

Malfoy seemed to focus at these words, and stood up.

"My wand was gone," he said, more to Harry then the others.

Harry stood up to look at the wands, bathed in the green light which still permeated the clearing.

"That one is Malfoy's wand," he said, "the other is mine. I noticed it wasn't in my pocket outside the stadium."

Everyone looked at him.

"We'd best ask this house-elf where she came from," said Arthur, warily.

Just then, a man in a suit with a straight, black mustache appeared in the clearing with a pop. It was Mr. Crouch.

"What is this?" He asked brusquely.

Amos replied, "We've found an elf with two wands that belonged to these boys, and were just about to wake her and find out what she knows about the Dark Mark."

Crouch gaped at the boys, the wands, and the elf.

"Winky?"

Winky's eyes opened as though Crouch's voice had spelled her awake.

"Master?" Winky squeaked.

"Winky, where did these wands come from?"

"I found them, Master, I didn't know what to do. I found them."

Winky was extremely distressed, looking at her hands as though unsure how she could have been holding wands.

"You were supposed to wait in the stadium, Winky," said Mr. Crouch, his voice cold.

Winky began to sob.

Amos, looking confused, spoke to Winky this time.

"Elf, did you see or hear someone conjure the Dark Mark or attack these two boys?"

"Sorrry, mmmmaster," was all Winky could squeak out, between her anguished sobs.

"I suppose you'll need to take Winky for questioning, Mr. Diggory?" asked Mr. Crouch.

Diggory nodded.

"Yes, we'll need to find out what she knows. She may feel calmer at The Ministry; I'll take her to the DRMC, myself. Arthur, do you mind taking the boys, make sure they're alright?"

"Certainly. Boys, here we go."

With a crack, Amos Diggory had turned on the spot, Winky in his arms, and disappeared.

Proceeding back the way they'd come, the Weasleys escorted Harry and Draco out of the woods, leaving Crouch behind.


	7. Chapter 7: The Hogwarts Express

******************************************************************************  
Before you read, I only want to remind you the wizarding world and characters belong to JK Rowling, and ask your feedback, impressions and comments!  
Aiming to post a new chapter every Tuesday. Thank you for reading!  
*******************************************************************************

Chapter 7: The Hogwarts Express

Harry was sitting at the round, wooden table within the Weasleys' tent, staring into a mug of hot chocolate. The others had all wanted to know what had happened, but there really hadn't been much to tell, and a tense silence lingered as they awaited Mr. Weasley's return.

It had been explained to everyone earlier, that the smoky snake and skull in the sky had been Voldemort's symbol, cast during the war whenever his followers, Deather Eaters, would murder someone.

"We, Malfoy and I, had no clue who was jinxing us and never saw Winky until Diggory picked her up," Harry had explained to the others, frowning tiredly.

"The healer at Security treated Malfoy's burn and his parents showed up demanding to know who attacked their son. Then there was some kind of examination of our wands which proved that several hexes, two trip jinxes and the Dark Mark originated from my wand."

"And, since you were both hexed, it obviously wasn't your work," Ginny had interjected, "Not that I'm glad you've been attacked, but you're alright, thank Merlin."

"You don't think the elf took both wands from the top box, do you? She was near enough then," Ron suggested.

The group had quieted, wondering about Crouch, Percy's upright boss and head of the International Magical Cooperation Department, whose elf was involved in so sinister a scheme.

"This puts things in perspective," George finally had said, his arm around Ginny.

"We're just glad you're alright, Harry!" Hermione said furiously.

"You've got that right," Fred agreed.

The uncomfortable stillness was at last interrupted when Arthur ducked into the tent.

"There've been no injuries", he reported, "but we needed to locate and Obliviate Mr. Roberts and the other site manager."

"Obliviate?" asked Hermione, startled.

"Yes. Not to worry, they'll be just fine. They won't recall the Dark Mark, as we've implanted a false memory of nasty storm clouds moving in, and of having a strong inclination to go to bed before the storm hit.

"Everyone in their bunks, we're going to take a portkey out in four hours."

Everyone was silent as the rucksacks and tents were packed away. Most tents had already gone in the night.

Back at Stoatshead Hill, the party of Weasleys, Harry and Hermione trouped toward The Burrow. Mrs. Weasley met them halfway up the lane.

"Oh, thank goodness, thank goodness! I've been so worried. You're all right?" she asked for confirmation.

"Yes, of course, we're all perfectly fine," Arthur assured her. Then, to everyone's surprise, Mrs. Weasley seized Fred and George into a tight hug.

"Ouch, Mum, you're strangling us."

"I shouted at you before you left," she sobbed, "What if You-Know-Who had got you and the last thing I ever said to you was that you didn't get enough O.W.L.s? Oh, boys."

"What made you think You-Know-Who…" Arthur trailed off. "The paper?"

"It said there was a Dark Mark cast over the woods!"

"Well, there was, Molly, but in no way is You-Know-Who suspected. In fact, it was more likely a prank to incite fear, taking advantage of an excitable crowd. Everyone inside, please, and get some rest."

Ron led Harry and Hermione up to his attic, where they seated themselves on his bed. Hermione kept peering at Harry sideways.

"You don't look well, Harry, how are you feeling?"

"Fine. Just, it's odd isn't it, that I've had dreams about Voldemort and Wormtail, then this week someone happens to throw up Voldemort's symbol, not to mention Trelawney's prophecy last year that Voldemort would come back even stronger?"

Ron had shuddered at each mention of Voldemort.

"Cut it out, would you?" he snapped angrily.

Hermione snorted simultaneously.

"Harry, you're not putting stock in that old fraud's prediction?" she scoffed.

"You weren't there, though, Hermione. If you'd seen her go into a trance and then not remember it afterward... and she predicted, the same night Wormy escaped, that his servant was returning to help him become 'greater and more terrible than ever before'."

"Well," Hermione hedged, "You're right about how it looks. Let's keep our eyes open then, but Lupin's note seemed to imply that there are people monitoring for any uprising of You-Know-Who's followers. Shall we agree, if anything else looks suspicious we'll tell Professors Lupin and Dumbledore?"

Harry nodded slowly, still looking preoccupied.

Ron looked relieved.

"Come have a game of Quidditch in the orchard, Harry! Three a side, we can get Bill, Charlie, Fred and George to join..."

"Ron!" Hermione scolded, "Harry's exhausted, and in fact we're all supposed to be resting."

"I'll play," Harry said suddenly, "I want to try out that feint of Krum's! Hang on, I'll get my broom."

Hermione sighed in an exaggerated way and muttered something that sounded like "boys and Quidditch", but she did follow them outdoors into the glittering field with a book under her arm.

Bill and Charlie had taken the week off from work for the World Cup, as no one ever knew how long a match would go on. They all enjoyed many long, enjoyable skirmishes above the apple trees, tossing fruit through makeshift Quidditch posts.

The week preceding September First was the most dreary of the summer. Rain lashed against the windows of The Burrow, doing nothing to dispel the end of holiday blues. Bill regaled them all with his most harrowing stories. Being a curse-breaker for Gringotts involved travelling abroad to explore ruins that were riddled with traps, and cursed to stave off thieves. Harry had expected Charlie to also have something of a daredevil attitude. He bred dragons for a living. Several burns up his tanned arms were healing, and he had a more weathered look than Bill, but took a tone more akin to Hagrid's when discussing the treatment and raising of young dragons.

Mr. Weasley and Percy would bring home updates from the Ministry of Magic. Percy, as Crouch's assistant, had to answer hundreds of letters demanding explanation for the disorganization at the World Cup, after the panicking crowd nearly caused a riot.

"It could have been worse," Percy said bravely, "I'm glad no one has cottoned on about the rogue house-elf. Mr. Diggory has hushed that up, and I expect the elf has been fired."

"Fired!" Hermione exclaimed.

"Well, of course," said Percy pompously.

"While it is odd for an elf to lose control, it's not unheard of," Mr. Weasley explained patiently.

"I heard that the department, in questioning Winky, received only one answer from the poor thing: "Winky is to protect Bartemius Crouch, she is to be with him always"."

"Well, then she was a good elf! She loves Mr. Crouch. I hope she wasn't fired," said Hermione sadly.

Mr. Weasley quickly introduced a new topic.

"Did you see the Daily Prophet reported about Bertha Jorkins, Perce? Ludo Bagman is getting the brunt of that one, as she's from his department."

"Indeed! You know, Mr. Crouch has long been of the opinion that there should be a search underway for Ms. Jorkins," sniffed Percy.

"If that Rita Skeeter helps light a fire to find the poor witch, it'll be the first time she's ever helped a soul," Mr. Weasley replied.

He sighed, and coninued to help Ron with spello-taping old textbooks.

Harry had taken out his Broomstick Servicing Kit and was carefully polishing his Firebolt, while Hermione and Ginny played exploding snap.

George and Fred, who had been averting attention all morning, had now had commandeered parchment and quills and were scribbling furiously and frequently exchanging glances between them. This must have been a common occurrence as no one seemed to question their uncanny, voiceless conversation.

The day before they'd catch the Hogwarts Express, Harry, Ron and Hermione set about unpacking their new school things. Harry reckoned he should do the thing right and emptied the trunk fully to sort the junk from lost odds and ends. His sneakascope was found rolling around his trunk's bottom. He stowed it on top thinking it was a useful tool to keep around.

New books were stacked, potions ingredients compartmented, and quills bundled. His clothes were all folded, including several white shirts, brightly tinted, casual shirts and sweaters, and the new black shoes and trousers to wear with his Hogwarts robes and tie. And they all fit him, Harry thought to himself with satisfaction.

The formal robes were last to go into his trunk, but he didn't unwrap them. He sat on his cot instead and wondered aloud, " Why do you suppose we needed formal robes this year?"

"I'm not certain, but a formal function of some kind," Hermione shrugged, still arranging her books, "Maybe it's a dance."

"A dance?" Ron looked up, horrified.

Harry laughed at him, "What's the big deal about a dance? You like music!"

Ron mumbled something about "a waste of time."

Ordinary Muggle taxis were taking them to King's Cross today, an odd sight to see as the group loaded three boots with six trunks, a cat and two owl cages. The yard was awash with rain, and Mrs. Weasley was already in a foul mood because the twins had accidentally set off fireworks on the stairs. Just before they were due to depart, she called Arthur back inside. Harry, still in he kitchen dragging his own trunk, noted with alarm that a head was floating in the fireplace amid green flames, and speaking to Mr. Weasley!

"I thought I had better floo you straight away, Arthur. I know you helped with the last incident, and Moody's a war hero, you know! I shouldn't like Mr. Crouch to be too severe upon him."

"Thanks very much, Mathilda, I'll take care of it."

"Do you have to go to work?" Molly asked hurriedly.

"To Alistor Moody's. Apparently Mr. Crouch is on top of him for something. An assistant overheard, and Mathilda thought I'd like to check in. I should go make sure it's all sorted before he starts his new job, you know."

With a quick peck on her cheek, he ran back to the fireplace. Mrs. Weasley was out the door in a flash to urge the rest into their taxis. She saw them all to King's Cross, discreetly through the barrier, and onto the great, scarlet steam engine with moments to spare.

"Be good," she said, with a general gaze, and hugged each of the kids tightly.

"Thanks for having us to stay, Mrs. Weasley," said Hermione.

"Yeah, thanks for everything, Mrs. Weasley!"

"Oh, you're quite welcome. We'd ask you for the holiday too, but I expect you'll want to stay at Hogwarts. Though you're not supposed to know - big surprise at Hogwarts this year!"

"What is it?"

But she just winked at Ron and waved them all onto the train as the whistle sounded.

The pistons hissed loudly and the train began to move. Thick rain splattered against the windows as Harry, Ron and Hermione slid into their own compartment. Lanterns were already lit as they settled in. Hermione already had a book open, happily curling her legs under herself by the lantern-light. Harry popped Hedwig's cage open with a smile at her disgruntle glare, and fed her owl treats from his pocket so she'd forgive him the uncomfortable journey! Her impatient hoots riled up Ron's owl, Pigwidgeon, so Harry bunged some owl treats his way, too.

Harry and Ron played exploding snap until they heard the witch who sold sweets approaching.

"Anything from the trolley, dears?"

"Thanks, six of each chocolate frogs, pumpkin pasties and Bertie Bott's Beans, please," Harry smiled, and took the sweets from her gratefully.

"Thanks, mate," Ron said as Harry whipped a frog at him across the compartment. They'd long since had a deal that first dibs on the collectible cards went to Ron, who'd been collecting the longest.

"Pasty, Hermione?"

"Thanks, Harry," she accepted a Pumpkin Pasty, looking up briefly from her book.

"Hey, Ron," Harry asked, "Do you know who Alistor Moody is?"

"'Course," Ron replied, eyebrows raised, "he's only the best Auror The Ministry ever had; most of the criminals in Azkaban are there 'cause of him. Why?"

"Your dad. They said he was with Moody on my birthday, then he had to go again today. Wonder what a former Auror needs help with?"

"Well, Dad's in the Department for Misuse of Muggle Artefacts, which means anything from dancing broomsticks to spitting teapots goes through him. But more than likely, 'Mad-Eye' was giving them trouble, and they know he likes Dad. Dad thinks highly of Moody. Not everyone does, though. They say he's paranoid and attacks you for breathing. They say his eye can see right through people, and," he paused for effect, "that he's fought the Dark Arts for so long, he's started to turn to the dark."

Harry grinned at this. Personally, he thought that if Mr. Weasley trusted the man, he was probably alright.

"Dumbledore's a bit mad, isn't he, but he's obviously still powerful, and fighting for good," said Harry, with a significant look at Hermione, "considering what happened last year."

"That's right, he's mad! Still, entertaining geezer, I'll give him that," Ron joked, causing Hermione to shoot a very offended look in Ron's direction.

They heard the compartment door slide and looked up to see Draco Malfoy, flanked by his heavy-limbed cohorts, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle.

"Try to keep it down, Weasley, some of us are trying to enjoy a quiet train ride," he drawled lazily, looking down his nose at Ron.

"Go enjoy it, then," Ron replied with a rude hand gesture.

"Oh, learned something new over the summer. Bit of advice for you, Weasel, don't try that in front of Moody or, I hear it might be the last thing you ever do."

"What do you mean, in front of Moody?" said Harry.

"I would have thought you already knew, Potter, based on your rather intrusive conversation earlier. Moody is teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts. Or Dark Arts, eh? I guess we'll see."

Hermione sighed, as though sorry to close her book, and sat up.

"We'll that's that mystery solved, then. Well done, boys," she said brightly, "Anything else?"

"Well, yes, as a matter of fact, I wanted to tell Potter here, that he's such a hero, as you well know, and that he should ask for special permission to enter the tournament. I know you're starved for attention, so why not put your heroic efforts into something worthwhile?"

Malfoy's goons guffawed.

It was Ron who answered.

"If that's your way of saying thank you, it's rubbish. And what tournament?"

A gleeful smile spread across Malfoy's face.

"Oh you _don't_ know. And here I thought your ministry brother and father would tell you... but perhaps it is above their pay grade."

Harry stood up and glared.

"Get out, Malfoy," he said.

"No trouble at all, of course I'll tell you," said Malfoy, "it's only polite, as I've mentioned it. The tournament is the 'Triwizard Tournament', taking place at Hogwarts this year, and two other visiting schools compete."

"I've read about it!" said Hermione, seemingly forgetting it was Malfoy talking, and rushing to extol her knowledge.

"The schools are Durmstrang, Beaubatons and Hogwarts, and a champion from each school is selected to compete for their school's glory! It used to be held every three years but stopped decades ago. 'Hogwarts, a History' has plenty of details," she explained, defensively.

"Well, yes, Granger, and you had better convince Potter here to enter, because I don't think Britain could stand the shame if their Saint Potter wasn't the school Champion," he waggled his eyebrows with a smirk directed at Ron.

"You can convince him too, Weasel, and maybe he'll share the prize money. Goodness knows you could use it- couldn't afford a regular owl, I see, had to buy a miniature. Did it come with tiny discount envelopes as well?"

The three Slytherin students laughed at Ron's red face, and at Pigwidgeon who had been thoroughly excited by the voices and was zooming around his cage like a frenzied flying gerbil.

Ron slammed the door behind them in fury, shattering the glass pane.

"Ron!" said Hermione reproachfully. She pulled out her wand, muttered "Reparo!" and the glass shards flew back into a single pane, returning to the door.

"Well... making it look like he knows everything and we don't!" Ron snarled.

"Don't let Malfoy get to you, Ron-"

"Oh, not a chance!" Ron scoffed.

But Harry knew that the feud between the Weasleys and Malfoys was much too long entrenched to ignore. Malfoy had antagonized Harry as well, ever since he was sorted into Gryffindor. The snobby boy, or more likely, his parents had the notion that mixed wizard and muggle heritage weakened magic. Or, possibly, that it weakened magical society. Either way, the belief in "pure blood" had resulted in nasty incidents over the years, both in and outside Hogwarts. From Voldemort's campaign for domination, to the Chamber of Secrets incident, there were interminable tensions between old wizarding families and first generation witches and wizards. It wasn't something most people talked about, and Harry even wondered sometimes what Hermione thought of the prejudices that were typically borne with, regarding people like her family.

"What are you reading, Hermione, a textbook?"

"No, it's a novel I always bring on the train, called 'Pride & Prejudice'," she answered leisurely.

She and Ron looked at Harry with raised eyebrows when he chuckled at the title, but then both joined in laughing.

The brightness in their train compartment had nothing to do with the lanterns or the persistent rain on the windows. As they took turns changing into their Gryffindor uniforms, Ron, Hermione and Harry were each glad to be heading to Hogwarts.


	8. Chapter 8: Back to the Great Hall

Before you read, I only want to remind you the wizarding world and characters belong to JK Rowling, and ask your feedback, impressions and comments!  
Aiming to post a new chapter every Tuesday. Thank you for reading!

And, a note:  
At this point in my writing, some might say I am writing "Alternate Universe", or AU. I prefer, I think, to say it is Alternate Rowling. Imagine how difficult it must have been for dear JKR to make life choices for every character! I am sure she had considered alternate paths for each and every one, and I expect we may discover some of those "Alternate Rowling" paths in our fanfiction imaginings. I love JK Rowling. She is a creator with brilliant understanding and empathy! Well, then, here is the chapter.  
*******************************************************************************

Chapter 8: Back to the Great Hall

Hogsmeade Station was likewise afflicted by such torrential rain, there was no seeing further than a few feet ahead. Hagrid, the gamekeeper, was waving a lantern from beneath a giant hood and calling to first years.

"Oooh, I wouldn't fancy taking the boats to the castle in this storm," Hermione said, huddled and clutching Crookshanks within her cloak.

The three filtered along with the crowd toward a fleet of a hundred carriages. Inside one they met with Neville, an accident prone fellow Gryffindor in their year.

Their progress through the iron gates, with their winged boars, was all darkness but for the sporadic lightening which revealed castle turrets beyond an unrelenting curtain of rain. Disembarking from the carriages, students were now clamouring up the stone steps, bound for the Entrance Hall. Torch-lit and expansive, the hall was a welcome respite from the rain. The momentary peace, however, was shattered when icy-cold water balloons began to plummet from the marble staircase above, a welcoming from Peeves the Poltergeist. Ron was caught in the face.

"ARGH!" he yelled.

Harry and Hermione weren't much better off, though he had anticipated the water-bomb and pulled Hermione aside, it splashed over their legs anyhow. Numerous squeals lifted through the hall before Professor McGonagall arrived shooting daggers out of her eyes.

"Peeves, get out or I shall call the Headmaster!"

There was no reasoning with Peeves, whose devilish aspect propounded several generations of cumulative Hogwarts pupils.

"Not doing nothiiiing," he sang, "they're all already WET!" His balloons all thrown, he hopped away with a rude sound.

McGonagall clapped for attention, "Move along now! Into the Great Hall!"

Despite its vast dimensions, the Great Hall was toasty and comfortable. The four long house tables were aglow, as much from the gleaming, golden goblets and plates as from the multitudes of floating candles.

Harry had never seen the ceiling this stormy, for it reflected the true weather, tumbling with purple-gray clouds that were agitated by bolts of lightning.

The sorting proceeded, Harry thought, not much differently from his own sorting three years ago. He sat between Hermione and Ron.

"Hiya, Harry, guess what, Harry?"

A younger boy, Colin Creevey popped up through Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor ghost, in his excitement.

"Alright, Colin?" Harry asked, wearily.

"My brother, Dennis is starting Hogwarts! He can't wait to meet Harry Potter! Hope he's in Gryffindor!"

And the bright-faced kid had ducked back to his place at the table. "Creevey, Dennis" was sorted to Gryffindor. As their table rang out with applause, Harry had a surprising thought. The prior student had been sorted into Slytherin to equally vigorous cheers. The table where each new student sat now would decide their friends and rivals throughout the coming years. Harry shook his head, dispelling that reflection. He grinned apologetically as his damp hair spattered droplets of water at his friends.

Dumbledore stood with an inclusive smile, to say, "Tuck in."

As the dishes filled the chatter waned and students hungrily devoured an impressive array of foods.

When the house tables had generated various puddings and Ron had slowed his chewing to almost a decent pace, the hall's double doors slammed open. There was a collective gasp. Harry mutely observed a cloaked traveller leaning into a limping stride toward Dumbledore. The Headmaster rose to grasp the traveller's hand, gesturing to the open spot at the staff table. Hagrid had returned earlier, which left one seat at the head table for the Defence Against The Dark Arts Professor.

Startling though his appearance had been, the entire hall froze, staring in horror as the professor removed his cloak.

"Allow me please, to introduce our newest member of staff, Professor Moody, who is retired from the Ministry's Auror force. We're greatly honoured," Dumbledore smiled pleasantly, as he led the scattered clapping of those who had recovered the quickest.

Most seemed unable to look away from the scarred visage, a gash for a mouth and weathered skin that appeared, Harry thought, as though carved from wood by someone unskilled with a chisel and only a vague idea of what a face should look like. The expression was obscured by a protuberant false-eye which spun dizzyingly, a blue blur, as his regular eye glared beadily.

"Well," Nearly Headless Nick tactfully tried to lighten the mood, "the professor has nearly missed dinner! Though, we all nearly missed dinner tonight, a very near miss indeed."

"Wha' 'appened?" asked Ron through a mouthful of chocolate gateau.

"Peeves, of course," Nick diverted his eyes from Ron, haughtily, "He was upset that he wasn't invited to the feast."

"Oh, was he hacked off about something? Who could tell?" Ron said.

"Quite. He rampaged through the kitchens, toppling pots and pans. Frightened the house-elves to no end!"

Hermione's squeaked in surprise.

"House-elves? Not at Hogwarts?"

"But of course!" said Nick, rising a few inches at a Hermione's indignation, "The largest employ of elves in all of Britain!"

"But, I've never seen one!"

"Certainly not! Good house-elves are not seen or heard. Mostly they keep to the kitchens, cooking, but tidying and tending fires at night."

"They're like slaves," Hermione whispered, looking sickened and pushing her plate away.

Harry frowned.

Ron had registered only slight concern that the feast had been at risk, but otherwise not at all that hundreds of elves below their feet had prepared their food.

"Ahem. Your attention please, before you head off to your dormitories we have important announcements concerning this year."

As usual, all chatter broke off when the headmaster began to speak.

"Mr. Filch requests all students be advised fanged frisbees and ever-bashing boomerangs have been added to the list of forbidden items, the full list of which can be perused at length, in Mr. Filch's office."

The corners of Dumbledore's mouth twitched slightly.

"A reminder to all students, the Forbidden Forest is out of bounds, as is Hogsmeade Village apart from scheduled visits for authorized students.

Now, an announcement from the Ministry of Magic's Department of Magical Co-operation and Department of Games and Sports. I'm pleased and excited to read this short note which will tomorrow be published in 'The Daily Prophet':"

Dumbledore read out,

"'Students and staff of Hogwarts, our sincerest compliments and well wishes to you! Your Ministry of Magic has decided the time is ripe to improve upon foreign relations between magical schools, and so to this end we are re-inventing the legendary Triwizard Tournament this year! This tournament will be hosted by Hogwarts, and will invite students from Durmstrang Institute and Beaubatons Academy of Magic, the short-listed of whom will arrive October 31st to open the tournament and for the choosing of three competing Champions. The prize is one-thousand galleons.'"

Some groups had been unable to keep from whispering loudly about this. Harry glanced at Ron, who had leaned forward eagerly at this. Perhaps he had not really believed Malfoy had been telling the truth about the tournament, or the prize.

Harry turned again to listen.

"Now, I know what your first questions will be, and while yes, the tournament was originally discontinued due to a high-rising death toll, I remain complacent, firstly, that our sponsors, Mr. Bagman and Mr. Crouch, will instate all necessary measures for safety! Secondly, there is to be an age limit, magically- and powerfully- reinforced, so please, do not attempt to enter if you are not age 17 or older before November. The remaining student body will enjoy both cheering their school toward glory, and mingling with our honoured guests.

After a short pause, Dumbledore continued.

"Well, and one final announcement: due to the time consuming task of organizing such an event, the inter-house Quidditch championship has been, for this year, canceled. Now, as you will all wish to be well-rested for new classes on the morn, off to bed! Pip pip!"

With the dual blow that was age restrictions and Quidditch being canceled, the Hall emptied rather more slowly and cantankerously than usual.

Harry's eyes found the Weasley twins further up the table, looking furiously at Dumbledore. Ron was gaping at his plate unseeingly. Harry blinked. Hogwarts without Quidditch? The thought didn't sit right. Hermione too, looked absorbed as they traced the path up several staircases to reach the portrait of The Fat Lady.

The tower dormitory was airy and comfortable. Harry's dorm-mates, all equally exhausted, quickly fell silent. Harry thought he'd never had a more peaceful return to Hogwarts, tournament notwithstanding. His last hope before his breathing steadied into slumber was that his dreams would be as peaceful.

***  
Another Note:  
You will notice, i have sometimes written word for word what JKR wrote, or close to it. If I have, it is because it is too crucial a sentence to alter! For example, isn't her description of Moody's face one of the best things you've ever read? "It looked as though it had been carved out of weathered wood by someone who had only the vaguest idea of what human faces are supposed to look like, and was none too skilled with a chisel." - Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, by JK Rowling. Brilliant, I say again. Thank you for reading!  
***


	9. Chapter 9

******************************************************************************  
Before you read, I only want to remind you the wizarding world and characters belong to JK Rowling, and ask your feedback, impressions and comments!  
Aiming to post a new chapter every Tuesday. Thank you for reading!  
*******************************************************************************

Chapter 9: the Triwizard Tournament

Gryffindor House awoke with the Triwizard Tournament on its mind.

Dean was pulling on his shoes in the dormitory, listening with interest as Ron spoke excitedly.

"I reckon Fred and George can manage, if anyone can... I mean, if they can trick whichever old windbag is choosing champions, I'd like a go!"

"Suppose you do get in, would your brothers be likely to help you with the champion's tasks?" asked Dean.

"That's not a bad plan, Whoever gets in just shares the prize, then you have everyone's combined skills," Ron considered aloud.

"I expect my gran would want me to put my name in for it, regardless," said Neville, miserably. "She's big on family honour and all."

Harry, who had been listening vaguely, was about to exit the dorm when Ron asked, "What do you think, Harry?"

The group had moved to follow him out the door.

Harry shrugged.

"I don't reckon a fourth year stands a chance."

Harry was not to be deterred by tournament talk. He himself had awoken with his mind on Quidditch. After playing in the Weasleys' orchard, and watching The World Cup, Harry decided he wouldn't truly feel at home without the game, but also that it wouldn't do to leave off practicing for a year!

"Breakfast, Harry?"

Harry nodded to Hermione, and the fourth years headed out the portrait hole together, down to The Great Hall.

"What's up with you, Hermione?" Harry asked Hermione, who seemed to be out of humor with her porridge.

"Sorry. I've just been thinking about Winky, Dobby and the House-elves in the kitchens. Did you know, 'Hogwarts, a History' hasn't a single word about them?"

"I didn't," said Harry, "But how can we tell if the elves are okay- if they're happy?"

Hermione glared.

"How can they be happy if they're not free?"

"Don't know," Harry answered, staring at his eggs and toast. A few moments later, his thoughts had come full circle.

"Well, it can't be helped, I'm going to have to find a way to practice Quidditch this year. On my own, if necessary."

"Why not, Harry? Just because professors won't be scheduling the pitch, doesn't mean you can't play," Hermione said with an approving grin. "Take some initiative!"

Ron soon re-joined Harry and Hermione with Fred and George, still fervently talking over aging techniques to fool the impartial Triwizard judge. Hermione handed over their course schedules as they sat down.

"No idea who the judge is, though," said Fred.

"Could be anyone," said George, gloomily.

"It's not," said Hermione, knowledgeably.

Ron looked like he might have misheard her.

"Not?" he asked.

"The impartial judge," Hermione clarified, "is the Goblet of Fire. It's all in 'Hogwarts, a History'. The prior tournaments have all used an enchanted goblet. The applicants' names go in, and it spits out the names of three champions."

Fred and George gaped at her.

"This opens up so many more options!" said Fred to George.

"Bye!" said George, and the two ran off, possibly to class.

"We're outdoors today, for Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures!" Ron said, spying the morning schedule.

"Glad the storm's passed! Shall we?" said Hermione, and they headed out the main front doors and toward the greenhouses for Herbology. Professor Sprout had them working in greenhouse four which was full of wildly interesting plants. However, the table set out for them was covered in what were possibly the ugliest plants, or similar, Harry had ever seen.

"Bubotubers!" Sprout announced. "We'll be popping the pustules, collecting the pus-"

"The WHAT?" Seamus Finnegan blurted, looking horrified.

"The pus, Finnegan. Don't waste it, it's valuable. Collect the pus, I say, in these bottles. Wear your dragon skin gloves as bubotuber pus can do funny things to your skin."

The Gryffindor and Hufflepuff fourth years all focused on coaxing liquid from within each black, slimy bubotuber to spurt into the bottles.

"That's it," said Sprout when they were through, "This'll go to Madame Pomfrey for acne ointment. Perhaps young girls won't be so hasty to treat themselves."

She looked sternly at her 'Puffs.

"Eloise Midgen, y'know, tried to curse hers and cursed her nose clean off," Hannah explained.

"Foolish girl," Professor Sprout sighed, "Off you all go! Wash up thoroughly now!"

As the fourth year Gryffindors and Slytherins approached Hagrid's hut for Care of Magical Creatures, they could see several large, wooden crates. Hagrid greeted all of them with a bearded grin as he rolled up his sleeves.

"Fourth years. 'Ere, we have a new shipment of Blast-ended Skrewts!"

"Eeurgh!" Lavender Brown complained, having looked into the nearest crate.

Yes, 'eeurgh' was right, Harry thought, as the Skrewts wiggled over each other, legs sticking out in odd placements, and their skin pale white, apart from pink stingers.

"They smell rotten," said Draco Malfoy, who had just arrived, with a look of disgust on his pointed face. "What are these for then?"

"For class!" Hagrid answered.

"No. What are they for, magically? This is 'Care of _Magical_ Creatures' after all, so which magical properties do these have?"

Hagrid looked stumped for a moment.

"Tha's next lesson Malfoy. Now ev'ryone, take a bucket and we'll try 'em on a few different foods today. This is my first time having these, and I'm not sure what they'll eat."

Harry and Ron took a bucket of liver, Hermione and Neville some beetles, and they each tried at lowering these into their crate to interest the skrewts.

"Ahhhh!" Dean yelled loudly, forty minutes into the lesson, "One got me!'

"You've got to watch out for the stingers," Hagrid said, but he ended the lesson there.

"What's the hurry?" Ron asked Hermione as she was chewing as fast as she could, hastily spooning more stew.

"I'm going to the library, quickly," she said.

"I'll come with," Harry said decidedly, not having much of an appetite.

Once inside Madame Pince's fortress of books, Harry followed Hermione, who easily navigated the towering aisles. They finally obtained an especially dusty bank of volumes.

"What are we looking for?" he asked in a whisper.

"Anything about House-elves throughout history, of course," she answered distractedly, "Here."

Several volumes were then thrust into his arms, so he took them to a nearby table. One volume, 'Wizarding Tradition, a Geneology', looked rubbish. Another called 'Magical Beasts & Creatures' looked more likely, so he pored over that one, searching for the word 'elf' and emerging to see Hermione partway through another volume.

"You know what Hagrid has me thinking?"

"What's that, Harry?"

"What's a 'beast' and what's a 'creature'? Is there a criteria, or are the terms just interchangeable?"

"Hm," she frowned up at him, "That is a very interesting question! 'Creature' seems to imply intelligence, beasts, less so. But The Ministry's 'Department of Magical Creatures' actually encompasses a wide range of both people and creatures. Goblins, for one, and Werewolves."

She and Harry exchanged a significant look.

"There must be creatures that are intelligent in their own way too, like Hedwig is brilliant," said Harry.

"Interesting Harry, but we're going to be late for class. Here," she stood and pulled a sconce back from a wall so that a bookshelf drifted forward.

"I store the books I'm using in here- it's a hidden study room," she said grinning at Harry's look of surprise.

"Of course you have a secret library within a library."

They climbed the marble staircase.

"You know, I don't fancy another year spending Mondays up in Divination," Harry admitted.

"Should have given it up for Arithmancy, like me. Third floor!" She grinned.

"Bye!"

Harry now had to jog up to the North Tower for Divination. Ron was also just reaching the trapdoor.

"Just come from lunch with Fred and George. They're still figuring on a jinx of some kind for the goblet," Ron explained smugly.

Up the rope ladder, the classroom's many poufs and tables were already accommodating students. One table by the back window was free. Harry and Ron had just been seated when, from directly behind them, Professor Trelawney breathed, "Good day, my dears."

Harry jumped.

"Dear, dear, you aren't looking well," she said, peer down at Harry through over-large, beaded spectacles. "Yes, I fear the thing you dread will come to pass."

She stared at him tragically before gliding to her seat at the front by Lavender and Parvati, who fairly worshipped her.

Harry felt a rush of annoyance at the old fraud's antics. They were starting on astrology which meant lining up planets, calculating distances and matching outcomes from an index to the resulting coordinates. Harry felt the familiar woozy headspace come over him, as smoky incense and the hazy voice of Trelawney washed over him. Hermione thought Trelawney was useless. But Dumbledore had said the woman's trance and prediction last year had sounded genuine. Still, he, Harry, wasn't dreading anything... Perhaps he was slightly concerned that Sirius might be found.

"Harry!" Ron whispered, and Harry jolted upright.

"What, sorry?"

Seamus, Dean and Ron were smothering their laughter. Harry had been quite obviously ignoring the lesson. The professor looked scandalized.

"Saturn, dear! I was saying, your peaky look, wiry build and dark hair most certainly point to Saturn's influence. And I think I am right to say you were born mid-winter?"

"No. I was born in July."

Ron turned his laugh into a hacking cough.

"Well," Trelawney said, shifting back on her feet, "you must all practice divining the placements of planets to predict for yourselves, using you birthdate..."

They were set an extreme amount of homework- a month of predictions to be mapped out on a chart, due by Monday!

"Gah, why did we take this course?" bemoaned Ron.

Hermione met up with them looking cheerful, having been assigned no homework for Arithmancy. At dinner, Hermione was rushing again. Harry marvelled that she could want the library even after classes.

He caught sight of a tall Gryffindor striding towards their seats. Angelina Johnson's signature braids shone, tied up in a knot atop her head. She gave a tight smile, and said, "Alright, Harry?" Then, waving over Fred and George, she began.

"Look. Quidditch is Quidditch, and just because the school wants to break the norm doesn't mean we can't play."

The Gryffindors gawked at her.

"I mean, I think I would have been captain this year," the girl explained honestly, "so it's on me if we are going to do this."

"Agreed," said Harry, grinning, "so what are we going to do?"

"Practice!"


	10. Chapter 10 Unforgivables

******************************************************************************  
Before you read, I only want to remind you the wizarding world and characters belong to JK Rowling, and ask your feedback, impressions and comments!  
Aiming to post a new chapter every Tuesday. Thank you for reading!  
*******************************************************************************

Chapter 10: Unforgiveables

Angelina Johnson had met with Head of Gryffindor house to discuss Quidditch. She had explained that the majority of last year's team was interested in continuing Quidditch practice. She had appealed to the Professor's known competitive nature. Professor McGonagall had agreed the Gryffindors could be allowed to practice Quidditch, so long as it did not interfere with classes or the Triwizard Tournament, they promised to win the House Championship next year, and no one earned detentions in the process.

Angelina had smiled and walked to her first class.

Other than Divination with its death warnings, and caring for the as-of-yet-nonmagical skrewts, Harry's classes were going reasonably well! Transfiguration was always heavy work. Potions class with Professor Snape was tense, as ever. Most students assumed the bitter Potions Master was irritable with Moody, having always wanted the Defense Against the Dark Arts teaching position for himself. Harry had observed Snape surreptitiously skirting Moody in the corridors, and suspected Snape was even a bit scared of the ex-Auror.

Harry had even been doing an extra study of sorts. When he could be confident no one would notice, he would draw out the list of curses and hexes, courtesy of Sirius. A few of these were intriguing. One would reveal hidden ink in a letter and another could spell a letter sealed.

A tricky jinx was 'Muffliato', which, with a deliberate, repeated flick, would create a mild buzzing in the ears of anyone nearby, so you could have a private conversation.

It had taken only about forty minutes to successfully cast this one, during one evening in the common room.

Interestingly, the spell to reveal ink, once used on the selfsame letter, revealed a second list. Harry blinked at the messy scrawl. A cleaning charm. A hair tidying charm. A shaving charm. These were- his stomach plummeted to his shoes- the types of spells fathers would teach their sons, in Wizarding families. Harry had decisively stowed the parchment away in his trunk at that point.

Thursday afternoon brought the fourth years' first DADA lesson. The older students had already been speaking reverently of Moody's class. Harry, Ron and Hermione arrived promptly, along with the rest of the Gryffindor fourth years, all perching at their desks, expectantly.

As Professor Moody's wooden leg clunked against the flagstones, the whole class stilled. Moody reached the front of the room, turned and spoke in a low growl.

"Put your books away."

Stumping behind his bare desk, he shook his grizzled hair out of his twisted and scarred face. Taking a register from his cloak pocket, he called each student's name. His normal eye moved steadily down the list while his magical blue eye swivelled to each student in turn.

"Right then," he said, when the last person had declared themselves present. "I've had a letter from Professor Lupin about this class. It seems you've had a thorough grounding in tackling Dark Creatures. That right?"

His magical eye spun again as he assessed the class, who gave a general murmur of assent.

"But you're behind - extremely behind - on countering curses," said Moody, "so I'm here to bring you up to scratch on what wizards can do to each other. I've got one year to teach you to deal with Dark -"

"What, aren't you staying?" Ron blurted out.

Ron watched Moody's eye, apprehensively. Then Moody smiled in a grimace that contorted the scarring worse than ever. Ron looked relieved.

"You'll be another of Arthur Weasley's sons? Yeah, it's just the one year for me, as a special favour to Dumbledore, then back to a quiet life of retirement." He barked a laugh.

"Straight into it - curses come in many strength and forms. You'll have heard that I don't hold back in this course. Well, the Ministry would rather you just learn counter-curses. But I say, you've got to know what the other side can do; you've got to recognize illegal curses; you've got to put that away, Miss Brown, while I'm talking-"

Moody had turned to draw on a large blackboard and Lavender, who had taken out her horoscope behind her desk, leapt in her seat at this.

"You've got to be watchful and prepared," he lectured, while his chalk whacked the blackboard in several, violent swipes.

"CONSTANT VIGILANCE!"

The whole class jumped in their seats! Moody scowled.

"Firstly, there are curses with no counter. Who in this class can name an Unforgiveable Curse?"

Harry saw Ron's and Hermione's hands extend beside him. Moody pointed to Ron.

"Uh, my dad told me about one called the Imperius Curse, or something?"

"Ah, yes, your father would know- the Ministry has had great trouble with this curse. Observe."

A white, chalk-drawn figure on the board presented a thin wand, pointed it straight at a second chalk figure and a speech bubble drew forth, 'Imperio!' The second figure reacted by falling still, its limp arms and legs unstirring. Next, the caster's speech bubble turned to a thought bubble, reading 'hop on one leg'. The slackened victim also grew a thought bubble, 'hop on one leg', and immediately complied, hopping up and down the length of the blackboard!

This was possibly the oddest lesson defense they had been given so far, Harry thought, as he watched Moody grin and gesture at the board.

"That's right, The Imperius Curse gives very little outward sign, but gives the caster complete control! The victim can be told to do anything, and would do it. Imagine that for a moment. They'd be happy to; they'd want to follow instructions.

I've said there's no counter," he said, interrupting their stares, "however, if you're vigilant, strong-willed, you can throw it off. You have to be ready to resist your very thoughts and primal urges. You've got to be aware when someone takes them over. Not easy.

"Another Unforgivable!" He barked.

Harry didn't see Neville raise his hand. He was surprised to hear the timid boy's voice as Moody pointed to him; Neville only ever volunteered in Herbology classes.

"The Cruciatus Curse, sir."

"Thank you...is it Longbottom?"

When Neville nervously nodded, Moody's wand waved over the blackboard enlarging the two chalk figures with stick lines for wands. The drawn figure at the left-hand side raised its chalk wand, and lunged forward in a crouch. A speech bubble protruded which read, 'Crucio!' Immediately, the second chalk-figure began to twist horribly, limbs bending and convulsing. No speech bubble appeared, yet a drawn mouth was wide in a circular, silent scream.

"Stop it!" Hermione suddenly yelled, but her gaze was in Neville's direction. The boy was rigid with horror. Moody turned back to face them.

"The Torture Curse," he uttered, "yes, disturbing. Yes, it's pain through every nerve ending, at the wand of a wizard or witch who wants you to suffer.

"Moving straight ahead, a third Unforgiveable Curse, Miss Granger?"

"Avada Kedavra," she whispered. Some classmates looked uneasily at Hermione.

"Indeed. Yes, the last and worst of curses ... The Killing Curse," Moody said with that misshapen smile.

His chalk figures returned to duelling form. In a trice, one speech bubble appeared reading, 'Avada Kedavra!', and the chalk wand emitted a green light; there was a sound like a rushing wind, and the second figure immediately slumped over. The blatant shock on every face seemed to please Moody, or perhaps he was proud of his light and sound effects! Harry half wondered if he'd only imagined them, for last year he'd relived the memory of his parents' death- the rushing sound, the green burst of light, the maniacal laughter.

"Who can tell me why these are called Unforgiveable Curses?" Moody called out.

Seamus Finnegan raised his hand tentatively.

"Because they'll earn a life sentence in Azkaban."

"Wrong!" Moody barked, his normal eye glinting brightly. "These three curses are so termed, because of the permanent effects each have on human beings. You know the Killing Curse causes death. The Cruciatis Curse pulls at your make, your magical and physical being, leaving the tortured witch or wizard weakened, wounded. Even with immediate healing treatment, they do not fully recover. The Imperius Curse."

Moody stared around at the enraptured roomful of students.

"When in command of another's will, both wizards are affected. The victim wants to experience the curse again. While under the curse effects, a bond of minds is formed, never to be reversed. The caster of the Imperius Curse wants to perform it again compulsively. In fact, casting any Unforgivable Curse requires a sacrifice of your very humanity... From the first casting, the Dark will court you. You're going to want to cast again, and again, until inflicting pain and death becomes a part of your very being.

"Please take notes from the board," Moody directed, and with a swish of his wand, neat notes relieved the board of its morbid tableau. "Remember, there's no counter for The Avada; if it hits any part of you, you're done." His eye flashed at Harry then. "With one known exception."

Harry stared directly at him, not blinking. Hermione's quill twitched over her notebook, unlike her habitually voracious note-taking, and she was chewing on her lower lip.

"You've learned about Dark Creatures. You'll now be taught about the darkest creature of all- the only species to use Unforgivable Curses.

Imperius Curse. Cruciatus Curse. Avada Kedavra.

Say the names. Write them down. Understand what each means. You've got to know; that's the only protection to keep you from slipping into the Dark Arts. WHEN you take a life, when others' lives mean nothing to you, that is when YOU become... a... Dark... Creature!"

"Blimey," Ron feebly whispered, once they all had reached the end of the corridor, "he thinks this is Auror training."

Hermione she put her hand on Neville's shoulder.

"Neville, want to go to dinner with us?"

"No, I don't think..."

Clunk. Clunk. Clunk. Moody was after them.

"Alright? Mr. Longbottom, would you like a tea? I have some books you'd be interested in."

The professor led a shivering Neville off, and the other three went to drop off their books before dinner.

"It was an amazing lesson, though, eh?" said Ron. "How in the diagrams, you could see the torture, and then the killing curse - just immediately-"

He broke off with a squeak at the look on Harry's face.


	11. Chapter 11: The Free Elf

******************************************************************************  
Before you read, I only want to remind you the wizarding world and characters belong to JK Rowling, and ask your feedback, impressions and comments!  
Aiming to post a new chapter every Tuesday. Thank you for reading!  
*******************************************************************************

Chapter 11: The Free Elf

Dinner had a subdued atmosphere. Feeling inexplicably exhausted, Harry would have liked to go up to bed but they had been assigned quite a lot of homework already. Ron and Harry sat in Gryffindor's common room at a fireside table with their astrology charts.

"This is mental," Ron said, sleepily.

"I know I've got a Neptune, here, but my new calculation mounts Neptune there, too. That can't be right," said Harry.

"Ah, Harry! When two Neptunes appear in the sky, it's a sure sign a midget in glasses is born!" Ron mimicked a certain professor's mystical rasp, wickedly.

Harry smirked.

"Back to our old standby, do you reckon?" asked Ron, stretching his gangling legs.

"What, make it up? I guess it's worked before," Harry shrugged.

"Next Monday," Ron muttered as he scribbled, "I'll be likely to develop a cough owing to the unlucky conjunction of Mars and Jupiter. You know Trelawney, enough misery and she'll just lap it up!"

"Right," said Harry, crumpling his first chart and lobbing it over the heads of chattering first years and into the fire. "Okay, Monday, I will be in danger of burns... "

"Yeah, you will, we're seeing the Skrewts on Monday," said Ron darkly. "Tuesday?"

"Lose a treasured possession," Harry suggested while thumbing through the text for inspiration.

"Good, good, because of...erm... Mercury. Why don't you get stabbed in the back by someone you thought was a friend?"

"Yeah ... cool ..." Harry approved, "because Venus is in the twelfth house."

"On Wednesday, I'll come off worse in a fight."

"Aaah, I was going to have a fight. Okay, I'll lose a bet."

"Yeah, you'll be betting I'll win my fight!"

They continued to make "predictions", which grew steadily more tragic, for another hour, as the common room slowly emptied. Crookshanks jumped on Harry's lap with a squashed sideways look as though accusing Harry of not doing his homework properly. After an hour of consulting 'Unfogging the Future', Harry and Ron had arranged days and days of misery ahead, due to regrettable planetary alignments.

Staring around the room trying to contrive of a new type of pain or suffering, he perceived the Weasley twins in the darkest corner, heads together conspiratorially. Odd, he thought. If they were still conniving to enter the tournament, more likely they'd include Ron, and Lee Jordan. It was uncharacteristic for Fred and George to avoid attention- they lived to be in the thick of things.

"No," George shook his head, "that sounds like we're accusing him. Got to be careful..."

He glanced up and Harry smiled lightly and quickly went back to his work. He didn't want George and Fred to think he was snooping.

Hermione entered the common room later with an odd look on her face.

"Hello!" she said, brightly.

Crookshanks meowed in greeting and hopped off of Harry's lap.

"Done!" Ron said triumphantly, throwing up his arms.

Hermione looked over at their tabled charts.

"Not going to have a very nice month, are you?" she said sardonically.

"Ah, well, at least I'm forewarned," Ron yawned.

"You seem to be drowning twice. Don't you think it will be obvious you've invented all of these?"

"How dare you?" Ron said in mock outrage, "we've been working like house-elves in here!"

Hermione raised her eyebrows.

Ron said hastily, "It's just an expression!"

Harry had just finished his final entry- death by decapitation. He set down his quill, looked up at Hermione and asked, "What's in the box?"

"Funny you should ask," she scowled at Ron and displayed the contents: fifty or so badges reading 'S.P.E.W.' in colourful lettering.

"Spew?" Harry picked one up.

"Not spew, S-P-E-W stands for Society for the Promotion of Elvish Welfare. I've just started it!"

She beamed at them.

"Really? How many members you got?" Ron asked with mild surprise.

"Well, just three, if you two join."

"You think we want to go around wearing the word 'spew', do you?"

"I've been researching the entire library and no one has ever addressed house elf rights," Hermione explained, looking deeply irritated, "And Elf enslavement goes back for centuries!"

"Hermione," Ron was rising and pulling his schoolwork into his bag, "Open your ears! They. Like. It. They like being enslaved!"

Ignoring her friend, Hermione spoke even more loudly.

"Our short-term aims are to secure house-elves fair wages and working conditions. Our long-term aims include changing the law about wand-use, and having an Elf join The Department for the Control of Magical Creatures."

"And how do we do all this?" Harry asked.

"Firstly, selling badges at two sickles each, to fund a leaflet campaign."

Harry looked to his left and saw Ron heading up to the dormitory entrance. Ron backtracked for a moment.

"Well, I'll say this- House-elves usually come with big manors and belong to rich families- you wouldn't catch one in our house! We've got a ghoul though, so feel free to start G.G.G.A.R.," he raised an eyebrow and smirked, "to Give Gross Ghouls a Raise, for all their brilliantly overlooked haunting!"

In his absence, Harry pulled the box to him for a closer look at the badges.

"You've put a lot of work into these," he observed.

"So you'll join?" she squealed.

Harry gazed back steadily.

"I'll consider it," he hedged, thinking about Dobby's self-punishing as a result of the powerful connection in place between a house elf and its masters.

"But, Hermione, changing something like this is difficult. You'll need to consider every perspective- Ron's reaction is proof. I'll join, if we can find a house elf and an adult Wizard who supports the aims."

Hermione made to reply, but Harry interrupted, "Tomorrow. Let's visit the kitchens, okay?"

Hermione looked slightly defeated but nodded in agreement, and they split off to go into their respective dormitories.

Finally it was Friday, and a first week had never been so busy, what with the extra homework that the teachers attributed to O.W.L. exams coming, next year. As a single reprieve, Friday morning's Care of Magical Creatures presented, sans skrewts.

Hagrid explained, "Skrewts will have to wait. I've been told to prepare fourth years for O.W.L.s, which means knowing gnarls from hedgehogs, so we've got several gnarls in here today. Open yer books, please, and who's first ter tell me a magical use for their quills?"

Moody's second lesson with the fourth years was perhaps less shocking than the initial introduction to Unforgiveables.

"You'll need basics in self-defence before defending against curses, or even duelling," he had growled at them.

Each would need to practice canceling spells with ill effects. He had set them to practice their own jinxes in pairs.

"Constant VIGILANCE!" he yelled.

Ron and Harry had cast the Jelly Legs Curse on each other several times. Near the end of class, Moody lined them up and jinxed each student in turn. Before leaving for the day, each was required to successfully use 'Finite incantatem!' to cancel a non-verbal jinx. Hermione may or may not have whispered the counter-charm under her breath during Neville's turn. If she did, Moody didn't comment.

"When," asked Ron, "are we supposed to read about countering jinxes for that paranoid old codger, on top of practicing transfiguring hedgehogs into pincushions?"

They were at dinner, tucking into shepherds pie.

"And writing our essay for History of a Magic, researching antidotes for potions, and filling out more stupid astrology charts," Harry added.

"We'd best visit the library to tackle our homework," Hermione suggested.

Hermione had been impatient all day to visit the House-elves, but Harry reasoned that the kitchens would be overwhelmed during mealtimes, and to wait for late evening. Ron snorted at this idea, clearly feeling that they should take his advice and give it up.

He joined them in the library as all three began to wade through Professor Binns' essay on goblin rebellions. By 8:30pm, when they were feeling thoroughly sick of regurgitating facts and dates about beheadings and battles, they rolled up their parchments.

"We'll see you upstairs," Harry said to Ron outside of the library.

He and Hermione then headed to the kitchen. Harry had the Maurader's Map that George and Fred had bequeathed unto him last year. They descended the marble staircase to the entrance hall and took a left down a corridor until they found a door, which led down a flight of stone steps. Instead of dungeons, this led to a wide, torchlit passageway decorated with paintings of breads, cakes and fruits. When he tapped the map with his wand, words appeared saying, "Tickle the pear."

Harry tickled the pear in the bowl-of-fruit painting, which became a green door handle. Hermione pulled it open to reveal a gigantic kitchen as large and long as the Great Hall above. It was heaping with brass pots and pans on stoves around the stone walls, and...elves! Harry had barely registered the multititudes of elves dressed in uniform white towels, when...

"Harry Potter, sir! Harry Potter!"

The next second, all the wind had been knocked out of him as the squealing Elf hit him hard in the gut with a tight hug.

"D-dobby?" Harry gasped.

"It is Dobby, sir, it is!"

Without releasing Harry, Dobby said, "Dobby has been hoping and hoping to see Harry Potter, sir, and Harry Potter has come to see him, sir!"

Dobby was wearing the oddest combination of clothing they'd ever seen: a pair of baggy football shorts, a tie patterned with horseshoes over his bare chest, and a tea cosy-hat which he'd covered in a collection of badges for added colour! His socks were, one pink and orange-striped, the other the black sock of Harry's which had freed Dobby.

Hermione and Harry, who were receiving occasional glances from the busy elves, asked Dobby if they could talk to him. He obliged, and a few helpful elves brought over three chairs and a pot of tea, serving them each a cup. Dobby's tennis-ball, green eyes and bat-like ears quivered as Harry asked him how things had been since being freed. He had travelled, searching throughout Britain for a family to work for, but had been unable to find one willing to pay him wages. He then described visiting his friend, Winky, to find out she had been freed also, and deciding the best place for two house-elves to find work was Hogwarts! Dobby looked very pleased.

"Winky's here?" gasped Hermione.

"Oh, yes!" Dobby said, and led them both past four long tables, positioned just below the house tables of the Great Hall.

Hermione winced as the elves they passed by curtsied and bowed. They each wore a white towel, toga-style, with a small stamp of the Hogwarts crest on the corner. Winky was sitting next to the hearth of a giant fire grate.

"Winky, sir," Dobby said to Harry.

Unlike Dobby's clothing, Winky's choice of garb was neither odd nor well cared for. Her little skirt and blouse were burned in places and terribly stained.

"Hello, Winky," said Harry.

His greeting seemed to prompt emotion as Winky's eyes teared and her nose like a squashed tomato started to run. Hermione patted Winky on the back.

"What's the matter, Winky?" she asked the inconsolable elf.

Dobby answered for his friend.

"Winky is not happy to be freed. She is not convinced she can work here at Hogwarts, because of her shame over being made to leave her family," squeaked Dobby, sadly.

"I tell her that Headmaster Dumbledore is a good master to elves! He is paying Dobby a Galleon per week, and Dobby gets one day off each month!"

"That's not much!" Hermione exclaimed.

"Oh, yes," said Dobby quite happily, "the Headmaster offered Dobby ten Galleons a week and weekends off," he shivered as though at the thought of such luxury, "but Dobby beat him down! Dobby likes freedom, Miss, but Dobby likes work better!"

"How much are you paid, Winky?"

Winky's sobs abruptly stopped. She straightened and squeaked, "Winky is a disgraced Elf, Miss, but she is not yet stooped to accepting pay! Winky is properly ashamed of being freed."

Hermione said, "But Mr. Crouch treated you so harshly, firing you when you did nothing wrong-"

At this, Winky's distress returned.

"You is not insulting Mr. Crouch, Miss! Winky is bad. My poor Mr. Crouch, what is he doing without his Winky?"

Dobby led them away from her scene, apologetically, and told them more about his plans to buy a sweater soon with his wages. Before they left the kitchens, Hermione had a final question.

"Dobby, wouldn't more of the Hogwarts elves like to be freed? To wear what they like, have pay and days off, as well as work?"

Dobby looked up at her, thoughtfully.

"Maybe, Miss, but... you see, most elves think of freedom and joblessness together, and that is the worst fate for an elf!"

"But, what about abusive masters, Dobby? Could we convince them that freedom was for the best, if it meant their house-elf friends who have masters like the Malfoys, would be treated right?"

Harry thought Dobby looked deeply troubled.

"I is not knowing, Miss," he said, "they is being very loyal to a master, they may not like to risk their employment."

Dobby hung his head sadly, onto his horseshoe tie.

"Thank you, Dobby," said Harry, firmly.

"Can Dobby come and visit Harry Potter sometimes?"

"Sure, Dobby!"

The elf brightened, and the two stepped out of the kitchen and through the painting, where they realized it was just minutes to curfew, and rushed up the grande staircase.


	12. The Guests and The Goblet

******************************************************************************  
Before you read, I only want to remind you the wizarding world and characters belong to JK Rowling, and thank you for reading!  
*******************************************************************************

Chapter 12: The Guests and the Goblet

Saturday dawned with the Gryffindors' first Quidditch training session. At 7am, Harry emerged from the dorm with his Firebolt. He met the others at the changing rooms, off of the Quidditch pitch. Angelina had not worried about assembling a team because there were no games planned, so there were several extras joining practice! With an evil grin, she set them all to drills for speed, accuracy with the quaffle, and testing their reflexes by hitting practice bludgers at one another. Harry felt at ease the instant he mounted his broom. He dipped, soared and looped the pitch so he could enjoy the full speed and quick response of his beloved broomstick.

Even if they had been a functional team, the drills would have been brutal. If their captain had thought these would pare down the participants, however, the excitement on each face after the session proved her to be mistaken.

Back inside the school and changed into his sweater and jeans, Harry set off in search of Ron and Hermione. He didn't have to look for long. Students of all ages were milling around a sign which had been placed at the foot of the marble staircase. Catching sight of Ron's red hair over the crowd, Harry made his way over to meet him.

"It's the Beaubatons and Durmstrang students," said Ron, "They'll be arriving on October 30th."

That was three weeks away. In the Great Hall at lunch the only subject anyone could talk of was the expected visitors; how would they arrive, what would they look like?

"Shall we pay a visit to Hagrid?" Harry asked his two friends.

"Ooh, good idea!" Hermione said excitedly, "I've wanted to tell him about S.P.E.W.!"

Ron rolled his eyes, but all three trouped out the front castle doors and down the sloping grounds. The autumn weather was not yet chill. Reaching the stone hut which was surrounded by stacks of firewood on one side and the pumpkin patch on the other, they knocked on Hagrid's wooden door.

"Harry, Ron, Hermione! Lovely to see you three," Hagrid said gruffly. His wiry whiskers lifted in a smile.

"Hi, Hagrid!

They were invited in for tea and stew and, politely declining Hagrid's attempt at cooking, enjoyed talking over the Triwizard Tournament.

"Never thought I'd see the tournament at Hogwarts!" Hagrid declared.

He was also unsurprised that Fred and George were attempting to enter although they were half a year short of seventeen, but provided a warning.

"Those tasks, they aren't easy. Designed, y'know, to brutally test your strength an' magical abilities!"

"Yeah," said Ron, "but think of the prize money if you won!"

Hermione tutted. "Think of the trouble with Hogwarts AND the Ministry if you're caught breaking the rules!"

She shuddered involuntarily, then changed the subject, with a sharp glance at Ron, to telling Hagrid about finding house-elves in the school kitchens.

"You see, Hagrid, with so many house-elves employed here, Hogwarts really needs to set an example for Wizarding families! They deserve better treatment, breaks and fair pay!"

Surprisingly, Hagrid was not at all keen on S.P.E.W.

"Naw, Hermione, the nature of house-elves is to enjoy serving... to be devoted to a master. They don't want or need payment or freedom to enjoy livin'."

Hermione looked shocked.

"Told you so," said Ron.

"I wonder why Dobby was all for freedom," Harry said.

"Yes! Dobby was the Malfoys' slave, before he tried to help Harry, and now he's happy being freed! He's paid by Professor Dumbledore and wearing clothes," she said triumphantly.

Hagrid seemed unconcerned.

"I won't say there aren't exceptions to the rule, but magic runs deep. More likely than not, Dobby considers havin' a master to be crucial, but also enjoys the small freedoms of clothes and pay. Could be he's just as devoted to his current master as any house-elf."

Hermione looked utterly disappointed.

"Hagrid, Hermione," Harry was struck with a sudden idea, "What if you taught about house-elves in 'Care of Magical Creatures'?"

"Oh, could we, Hagrid?" Hermione said, beaming at Harry.

"'Course! Anytime. I'm sure Dumbledore would be pleased," replied Hagrid, "and they're int'resting, powerful creatures, elves!"

"Talking to the class could really open up a dialogue for real change! I'll need more time with the house-elves, of course...'

"Just remember," Harry warned, "they'll be upset if you speak negatively about their masters. Best if you just find out about how they like to be treated."

He didn't want any house-elves beating themselves over the heads with table lamps!

With a new routine of classes, practicing spellwork in the common room after dinner, and scrawling out essays in the library, Harry, Ron and Hermione barely had any free time left over. The Hogwarts staff were equally under strain, though for different reason. The entire castle was apparently under rigorous inspection and Harry observed as Halloween drew nearer, suits of armour down the corridors began to gleam, the banisters of the staircases shone brilliantly, and teachers were criticizing students' hygiene excessively.

"Potter, cannot you manage to keep tidy hair?" Professor McGonagall had chastised after Transfiguration. His hair was always sticking up in the back, but in all fairness, after trying to transfigure pheasants into feather dusters, most of his classmates were very dishevelled.

Filch, the caretaker, had exchanged his usual pastime of stalking the corridors for rule-breakers, for dusting the thousands of hallway portraits, whilst teetering atop a precipitous ladder.

Finally, it was Friday the thirtieth of October, the evening their guests were to arrive. Prim Professor McGonagall advised the Gryffindors to dress neatly, behave respectfully, and to assemble in the Entrance Hall at five o'clock in the evening.

After a gruelling afternoon Potions lesson, they all changed robes, flattened hair, straightened ties, and proceeded downstairs. The heads of house, Professors McGonagall, Flitwick, Snape and Sprout, who, for the first time Harry had ever seen, was not in her patched-up Herbology robes, but moss green dress robes, were aligning students by house on the front lawn. The shortest of the students were nearest the lake. Facing the grounds, lit up as they were by the sun nearly set over the mountains, Harry was absorbed by the glistening lake and forest of rusted leaves shivering in the chill October breeze. Even as the students whispered excitedly in anticipation, Harry thought he'd prefer, just now, to be soaring over the grounds on his Firebolt.

Hermione nudged Harry in the ribs, startling him from his thoughts. He glanced from her, to Ron, and then up into the fading indigo sky. Visible against the light which fell from Hogwarts' many tower windows, a shadowed coach drawn by six spectacular, winged horses was agilely descending from the sky. Sounds of awe rose from the assembled students. The palomino horses swooped shockingly toward the ground, before each curvetted into a canter, their strong legs evenly coaxing the carriage to land. Wings shook back to display coats of golden brown and gleaming manes of pure white. The carriage was just as impressive, the size of a cottage and powder blue. As it drew nearer to the castle's approach, Harry saw a crest, two crossed wands emitting three stars, over the carriage door.

As the carriage door opened, Professor Dumbledore announced, "Students, ladies and gentleman, please welcome... the delegations from Beaubatons Academy of Magic!"

Everyone gasped, startled, as boisterous fireworks and celebratory music seemed to blare from the four Hogwarts towers! Under cover of this brilliant light display, students in robes of light-blue silk formed a line outside the carriage, followed by a woman in black, so tall and broad herself, that the gigantic horses and carriage fit her to scale! The woman proceeded to approach Professor Dumbledore, her students trailing gracefully in her wake.

"My dear Madame Maxime, nous vous offrons un accueil très sincère!"

He then turned to face his own school and led them in exuberant clapping, with a lively look on his aged face.

With so much to take in already, it was actually little Dennis Creevey who yelled out frantically, "Look at the lake!"

All stared as a disturbance rippled, then stirred, finally forming a dark whirlpool at the centre of The Black Lake. Out of the whirlpool rose a mast, which drew along with it a magnificent, skeletal ship. Students gasped as the lake's edged sloshed turbulently over the shore. A splash and a thunk followed, as the ship came to rest, with a long plank making way to the shore. An eerie light from the ship's portholes illuminated the shadowed, bulky figures now disembarking.

"Welcome, Professor Karkaroff, and your Durmstrang Institute contenders!" said Dumbledore, as he shook Karkaroff's hand warmly, though the visiting Headmaster's smile in response seemed cold. Fireworks and welcoming music once again swelled as a dozen students in heavy, fur coats, fell into line facing Hogwarts.

As the fireworks faded, Dumbledore raised both arms to silence the energetic crowd.

"Let us all enter the castle to celebrate the arrival of our guests!"

The guests led the way into the Entrance Hall, following blue torchlight through vast doors and into the Great Hall. Four elaborate banners had been decoratively draped across the ceiling's expanse, one to represent each house. A powerful lion, an elegant badger, a sharp-eyed eagle and an alluring serpent each eyed the students who seated themselves along the four house tables for the welcoming feast.

Dumbledore had escorted Karkaroff and Maxime to join the ministry officials, Crouch and Bagman, at the raised head table. This left the guest students to choose from the house tables. The Beaubatons group seemed undecided, ultimately splitting up to half join Ravenclaw and half to join Hufflepuff. The dozen from Durmstrang were still lingering at the doorways, removing coats and looking, on the whole, extremely impressed by the stars now brightening the enchanted ceiling.

"Harry," Ron whispered faintly, "that one guy...that's Krum, Victor Krum!"

Harry took a closer look and yes, the surly-looking young man with thick eyebrows and a heavy gait was unmistakably the Bulgarian Quidditch Team's seeker!

"He's at school!" Harry said.

"Obviously," said Hermione, rolling her eyes.

Ron looked like he was about to either faint, or yell at the Quidditch celebrity, when there was a clinking sound. Professor Dumbledore was preparing to speak.

"Honoured guests, presiding Ministry of Magic delegates, and Hogwarts residents, it is my great pleasure to introduce the opening of the newly reinvented, Triwizard Tournament! I present none other than Mr. Ludovic Bagman himself, to please set us up, before we celebrate the wondrous event which brings our respective schools together this evening."

With blue eyes twinkling, Dumbloredore clapped for the approaching Mr. Bagman. Although wearing dress robes today, he bounced forward with an air of informality and a bright grin.

"My dear students, the Triwizard Tournament brings honor, far beyond simply one student or one school! It represents what can be achieved when magical ability, intelligence, skill and dedication are not only valued, but shared! Please therefore, treat this tournament, as our friend Mr. Crouch would say," he winked roguishly," with gravity and due consideration. Before entering this substantial contest, consider whether you can uphold the values, demonstrate bravery and talent- in short, whether you will be the best Champion for your school!

"As you cheer on your school's Champion, remember, though the winning Champion receives honor and glory nation-wide, we all, of course, take part in the success of this momentous event!"

Ludo Bagman gave a wave of his wand, and a jewel-encrusted chest floated across the dais. He opened the chest by hand, and very gently raised a simple, wooden chalice the length of his arm, placing it tenderly on the lid of the glimmering chest.

"The Goblet of Fire! You may enter, in the Entrance hall, anytime before tonight and tomorrow evening's dinner. Let the Triwizard Tournament begin!"

Harry looked around at Ron, and back at the unremarkable goblet. Just then, shocking, electric-blue flames burst forth from the goblet which licked upward, unceasingly. The Great Hall had darkened without Harry realizing, but now candles relit overhead and great serving platters appeared over all five tables! The tables were consumed by animated talk over who might enter, and who might be chosen by the Goblet of Fire to bring glory to Hogwarts.


	13. Chapter 13: Halloween

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Before you read, I only want to remind you the wizarding world and characters belong to JK Rowling, and thank you for reading!  
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Chapter 13: Halloween

The exuberant feast ended with Mr. Bagman and Mr. Crouch magicking the Goblet of Fire into the centre of the Entrance Hall, where Professor Dumbledore was to place charms around it to disallow desperate young students.

Unlike the start-of-term feast, droves of students were anxious to exit the hall. Harry, Hermione and Ron tried to follow the other fourth years into the Entrance Hall, curious to view the Goblet. However, the Durmstrang guests reached the doors simultaneously. Harry, at the front, paused to allow them through. He didn't notice Ron cowering, star struck, behind him. Ushering Krum ahead, with a hand on his shoulder, Karkaroff's eyes glanced off Harry, then did a double-take.

Viktor Krum had turned around too, glanced at his Headmaster, then extended his own hand to Harry.

"Viktor Krum," he said.

"Harry Potter," Harry replied, shaking hands.

Krum and Karkaroff nodded at Harry, then turned to leave, followed by the other, gawping, fur-cloaked Durmstrang students.

"So, who do you two expect for Hogwarts Champion?" Hermione asked, as the trio traversed back to Gryffindor tower.

"A Gryffindor, absolutely," said Ron.

"Or Cedric," said Hermione, "he's one of the most popular."

"That pretty boy? You like him because he's handsome, I expect," he scoffed.

"Excuse me, I do not like people just because they're handsome!"

Ron coughed and muttered, "Lockhart."

Harry interjected before Hermione could bristle at this.

"Cedric is the only one I've heard is definitely planning to enter. Most who enter probably won't want everyone to know. They'll probably enter after everyone else has gone to bed."

They collapsed into armchairs by the common room fireplace.

"We'll have so much work to do after missing tonight, and then tomorrow's the feast to draw the names of the Champions," Hermione fretted.

"What, do you want to do some homework now?" Harry asked, hoping not, as his eyes were already fluttering closed behind his glasses.

"No, Harry, you have Quidditch training tomorrow! Maybe I'll bring my books and watch your training. Then we can study after lunch."

Harry rubbed his eyes, and looked at Hermione sideways.

"Sounds great. Good night, then."

Harry and Ron ascended the staircase to the boys' dorms.

Harry was first to open his bed-hangings the next morning, and head out of the dorm for the common room, with his Firebolt in tow. Hermione was also in the common room wearing her cloak, along with Fred and George.

"The others have already gone down to the pitch," George said.

"Got enough books there, Hermione?" Fred said with raised eyebrows.

She smirked at him, and the quartet headed down from the sleepy tower and out through the oak front doors.

"About time!" Angelina yelled at the group, as Hermione settled into the spectator stands nearby.

Angelina had obviously been working out more and more difficult training scenarios. Today she divided up four Gryffindors including Fred and George to play beaters, six as chasers and two keepers, so they could practice defence. For Harry, their seeker, defence just meant avoiding bludgers while he sought the golden snitch! But he was very interested in the game mechanics, too, so watched Angelina assign quadrants for the beaters to manage, and review hand signals to communicate plays between the chasers. Harry caught and released the snitch three times, and after the fourth catch, Angelina had scarcely anything to critique.

"Keep working on smooth stops, Potter!"

Grinning, the whole group landed on the grassy pitch to surround Angelina.

"Good progress today! We won't know about next practice until we have updates on the Triwizard events, but unless you hear otherwise, assume we're on for Saturday at 7am! I've put my name in for the tournament this morning... so, we'll see!"

The team clapped and a few shouted, "nice one!"

Hermione had come over, and Ron, too.

"I hope you're chosen, Angelina!" Hermione said to the taller girl.

No one had noticed they had a larger audience than just Harry's friends, until a group comprised of several Beaubatons visitors approached.

"Very nice practice," a tanned boy from Beaubatons commented.

"Do any of you play?" Angelina asked.

"Some of us. And Viktor, of course," he answered.

The group parted to reveal Krum, who had blended in, as they all wore cloaks against the wind today.

"Hi. Angelina Johnson," she said, shaking Krum's hand.

Most of the Gryffindors were following this introduction, dumbstruck, and a few whispered behind their hands to one another, which irked Harry.

The spokesperson from Beaubatons, Luca was his name, suggested they could put together a game sometime, if the Gryffindors were interested. That was unexpected, Harry thought, but then again, the World Cup had made him realize that Quidditch was popular worldwide!

"Can-I-have-your-autograph?"

They heard Ron blurt out the question he'd been dying to ask Krum since yesterday, and everyone laughed at Krum's expression. He actually looked surprised! But he signed Ron's parchment. The ensuing scramble while others looked for parchment for an autograph, too, nicely covered Harry and Hermione's exit back to the castle, where they escaped to laugh at Ron's adulation for the famous Quidditch seeker.

At lunch, The Great Hall had been decorated in the usual macabre manner for Halloween. Live bats flapped overhead. Hundreds of carved jack'o'lanterns grinned toothily. The candles cast a lurid, purple sheen over the tables so, despite the natural light, faces had a rather bloodless aspect.

Having retrieved his book bag after lunch, Harry rejoined Hermione in the library. She was already rapidly quilling an assignment, behind a stack of several reference books.

Knowing better than to interrupt, he took out his Potions essay and textbook. He'd best get it started, since Snape was as likely to fail him for poor handwriting as for an error in his answer.

But, ten minutes in, he'd only managed to write a few words. He pulled out a quartered parchment from his robes pocket: Sirius' spells. He'd learned a few so far.

"What's that, Harry?" asked Hermione from beneath a curtain of frizzed, golden brown hair.

"Oh, just Sirius' old letter, with the jinxes and stuff.

"The Full-Body Bind jinx is on here," he said after another moment. "You used it in first year. Why did you know that one?"

Hermione actually turned from her essay to look at Harry.

"Oh, just in case. In case anyone bothered me, I suppose," she said under her breath.

"Would you have used it on me?"

"What? No! Why would I?"

Harry shrugged. Hermione looked at his parchment, and her eyebrow furrowed.

"He hasn't written the counter-jinx here! That's... irresponsible."

"I guess. Sirius isn't exactly the cautious type. More like Fred and George, he causes mayhem and then enjoys watching it unfold."

"Well, I don't know him well at all, but he sounds like the bullies I've known. If you're just having a laugh at someone's expense, it's not very funny."

Harry grimaced.

"You're right. Only bullies use jinxes for a laugh. I guess it's good to have these up your sleeve though, like you said, just in case. Malfoy better hope we don't duel again!"

He looked at the parchment again thoughtfully, and put it away.

"Hey, you should have used the Full-Body Bind on me last year!"

"What?"

"Y'know, when I was being stupid to you. About Hogsmeade. And the stupid Firebolt," he said ruefully. Hermione looked shocked.

"Stupid Firebolt! It's a world famous broom, and your Nimbus had just been smashed."

"Well, you're really just making me feel like more of an idiot," he laughed, "you come to all my games, and help me study around practices and I still thought at the time that you didn't get it about the Firebolt."

"Want me to call you daft? You're really daft, Harry."

"Whoops."

"But... you shouldn't worry about my not understanding. I know how I come across all intense and obsessed with books," she smiled and continued.

"I was that way, but only because I didn't know I was a witch and didn't really have friends. Now I have Ron and you. Of course I'm going to care about the things my friends care about."

Harry smiled at her. He did manage make progress after all, with his Desemination Draught essay, before dinner time arrived. Ron still hadn't shown up in the library.

"I suppose his study plan is to try to trick his way into the tournament!" Hermione huffed.

"What do you mean?"

"Didn't you hear that the Champions are exempt from school exams? Ridiculous," she added, "who would jeopardize their academic future just for a bit of attention?"

"A bit of attention?" Harry repeated, incredulous.

"Hermione, they'll be ...celebrities. Like being celebrated is so great. Look at Krum, I don't think he fancies it either."

"Then why enter?"

"Hm, dunno. Ron doesn't seem to be here," Harry said as he scanned The Great Hall.

"He was here," said a voice from the Gryffindor table. It was their fellow fourth-year, Neville.

"Alright, Neville?" said Harry.

"Hi, Neville. Where did Ron go?" Hermione asked, sitting down across from he and Harry.

"So, Fred, George, Lee and Ron had been planning to try putting their names into the Goblet, and thought their best bet was an aging potion. Right after lunch they came through, and it was obvious Ron had taken it, he looked years older!"

The way Neville told it, everyone had cheered for the twins, Lee, and Ron, too, when it all had gone wrong. Each had sprouted a rich, long beard, been flipped on their heads, and ejected from the Goblet's charmed perimeter.

"Brilliant! Do you think they still have beards?" Harry laughed.

"Dumbledore sent them off to Madame Pomfrey to be de-aged," Neville said with a grin.

"Silly," Hermione declared, "Professor Dumbledore, of course, would have expected aging Potions."

"Bagman and Crouch are still here," Harry observed, "and who else?"

"That one's a reporter," Neville said.

He had gestured to a witch in an audacious purple cloak, bright red eyeglasses and a broad smile. The squat man next to her would be her photographer, then.

Karkaroff appeared shortly, parading his uniformed pupils up to the top of Slytherin's table which had been left open for them.

Ron slid onto the bench next to Hermione, with a strangely shrunken expression.

"You look cleanly shaven," said Harry.

"Thank you for that," said Ron with a grimace.

"And what a waste of time that was. Fred and George think it was excellent, though, exploding across the hall like a human firework."

Ron grinned in spite of his bitter bellyaching.

"Sounds brilliant," Harry nodded, "wish I hadn't missed it!"

Ron's look became suddenly unfocused, and he stared over Harry's right shoulder.

"I love it when they walk," he murmured.

"They? What, all the girls?" asked Hermione, disparagingly, "or is it all of the Beaubatons students you enjoy ogling?"

Ron shook his head slightly.

"Sorry, what?"

These visitors were again in formal uniform, robes of powder blue silk, and following their impressive headmistress like graceful attendants. They were seated at the top of Gryffindor's table.

Dumbledore rose to greet the hall.

"Welcome, everyone, to our Halloween feast and Ceremonial drawing of Champions!"

Before our many revelries commence, we will be presenting several, skillful students, who bring from their respective schools, especial talents. These guests have, most generously and in keeping with the friendly aspect of the Triwizard Tournament, offered to share these with us."

To enthusiastic applause, five young ladies from Beaubatons glided to face the hall. A chorus of fluttery music began, as they demonstrated some sort of ballet. Harry thought their fluid movements made their feet seem to be hardly moving! Two willowy girls dove through the air and flipped gracefully in a coordinated routine. The fifth, front-facing girl then lifted folded arms to release charmed butterflies to fill the ceiling.

Thunderous clapping and whistling now filled the hall, as the five bowed.

Next, three Durmstrang students approached, took fighting stances, and low, drumming music sounded from somewhere. They didn't duel. Instead, the three scarlet-clad young men were transitioning from one stance to another, with a rhythmic drumming signalling each move; from a solid stance, they would lean synchronistically to one side, moving their arms in a forward motion. It was impressive, Harry thought, like fighting in slow motion.

The young man standing slightly at the forefront spoke in a mellow, deep voice.

"'Prigotvisa' ... is our traditional practice ... to prepare one's magic ... mind and strength. One learns to be ready, to be aware, and to learn your own unique, defensive style."

The three continued in steady, measured stances as the drumming crescendoed. They lunged forward as one, and breathed out so fire burst from each outreaching hand. Silence followed.

More slowly this time, the hall applauded appreciatively. Professor Dumbledore stood once more.

"Well done! Thank you, guests," he beamed.

"We will announce arrangements to learn from our vastly talented visitors at a later time!"

"Now, without further adieu, please enjoy a special Halloween feast which celebrates cuisines from around the world."

Professor Dumbledore, Harry saw, proceeded to compliment Madame Maxime and Karkaroff to his right and left at the head table, on their presentations.

In surveying the table, he saw more than a few inquisitive faces at the dishes sitting before them. There were new foods to Harry, but he really wasn't picky. Hermione offered him a fishy-smelling stew, "bouillabaisse" which he declined, however.

Not long afterwards, a melodic voice with a lilting, French accent reached their ears.

"Air you wanting za bouillabaisse?"

A young woman with long, silvery-blonde hair was looking straight at Ron.

"Uhhhh..." he gaped at her.

"No, that's alright, you can have it," said Harry, as he pushed the dish over to her.

"You 'ave fineeshed with it?"

"Yeah, it was excellent!" said Ron, too enthusiastically, considering he hadn't truthfully tried the dish.

Harry started to laugh at Ron's face.

"She's a Veela!" choked Ron.

"What?" said Harry.

"Honestly, Ron, is anyone else popping their eyes out of their head?" Hermione said, looking down her nose at him with disgust.

"Some of them are," said Neville.

The feast protracted and the students' anticipation for the choosing of Champions intensified. Finally, with a gentle motion of his hand, Professor Dumbledore had dimmed the lights to a soft, purple glow. The Goblet of Fire, resting upon its opulent case, was floated across the hall until it sat level with the dais which held the head table.


	14. Chapter 14: Choosing of Champions

******************************************************************************  
Before you read, I only want to remind you the wizarding world and characters belong to JK Rowling. Thank you for your feedback, impressions and comments!  
Thank you for reading!  
*******************************************************************************

Chapter 14: The Choosing of Champions

 _Finally, with a gentle motion of his hand, Professor Dumbledore had the lights dim to a soft, purple glow. The Goblet of Fire, resting upon its opulent case, was floated across the hall until it sat level with the dais which held the head table._

The blindingly blue flames in the Goblet flickered soundlessly.

"I estimate," said Dumbledore, with gravitas, "that the Goblet of Fire requires one more minute. Once each Champion has been chosen, please proceed up the hall, across the front table, thus, and into the right-side chamber to await your instructions."

One more minute, Dumbledore had said. The air was thick with expectation. Fred and George sat nearby, staring at the Goblet as though mesmerized by the bright-blue flames.

A sudden flicker, and the flames burned red, expanded and emitted a charred parchment in a shower of sparks! The headmaster caught this calmly and held it up to read.

"The Champion for Durmstrang is... Viktor Krum!"

Krum's name was cheered, loudly, as the whole hall enthusiastically applauded and yelled. Everyone wanted to see Krum compete. The flames had gone back to blue, but moments after the teenager in dark red robes had slouched by the head table and through to the connecting chamber, they began again to glow red.

A second parchment was expelled and read out.

"The Champion for Beaubatons is... Fleur Delacour!"

There was widespread applause for her too, though not so loudly as to mask sounds of outrage from the remaining Beaubatons students.

"Oh, they're all disappointed," Hermione said of the sobbing guests at the other end of the table. None were so stoic as the Durmstang group.

Fleur had flowed from her seat, approached the head table with a smile at Dumbledore, and proceeded into the chamber.

Finally, red blame burst forth and Dumbledore had caught a third parchment which would declare Hogwarts' own Champion.

"The Champion for Hogwarts is... Cedric Diggory!"

The uproar was deafening! Diggory received tremendous support, hands clapping him on the back, Hufflepuffs cheering his name, and nearly everyone applauding though he had already walkd past the head table, through the doors.

"Excellent, excellent," said Dumbledore. Once the celebrations quieted, he gestured to Mr. Bagman and Mr. Crouch, "Would our sponsors like to say a few words?"

"Indeed!" said Bagman, glancing at Crouch's indifferent expression. But then the middle-aged man in lime-green striped robes stopped short, eyes wide. The Goblet's flame had turned again to red.

Automatically, it seemed, the headmaster caught a parchment out of the air. He looked at it, and at Bagman, then to the hundreds of staring students.

"Harry Potter."

A wave of whispers swept through the hall. The whole Gryffindor table was staring at Harry. The other tables were staring too. Professor Dumbledore's expression was unreadable.

"Through the chamber doors please, Mr. Potter."

Harry felt as though he were paralyzed. Ron and Hermione's eyes seemed to examine him. He had to say something!

"But, I didn't enter..."

"Harry, go..." said Hermione quietly, gesturing to the front of the hall.

Harry blinked. He stepped out from behind the bench, and, somehow managing to move his leaden legs, walked towards Dumbledore. He now realized all of the teachers were gazing down at him with shock on their faces, but he was pointed to the chamber at the side and entered it, feeling hundreds of eyes on his back even through the closed door.

The chamber walls held ancient portraits of witches and wizards who looked on, curiously. There was a handsome hearth in the opposite stone wall, around which the three Champions had gathered. They were impressive, Harry thought, in the shadows cast by the roaring firelight.

Fleur shook back her silvery hair and asked, "What is it? Do zey want us back in ze hall?"

She thought he was bringing them a message. Harry just stood there, not knowing what to do or say. They were interrupted by footsteps, and Ludo Bagman popped in.

"Extarordinary," he said, "Absolutely amazing... Champions, the Goblet of Fire has just chosen, for the first time in known history, a fourth Champion!"

Harry could see doubt on their faces, as Krum, Fleur and Cedric looked round at him.

"This... leettle boy? Oh, vairy funny, Meester Bagman!" Fleur said with a smile.

"No, no, he is, he..."

But at that moment the chamber doors flew open with a flurry of movement as witches and wizards strode in.

"What is the meaning of this, Dumbly-dore?" Madame Maxine's eyes flashed. Harry had not realized before now that her eyes were like obsidian stone. They flashed in angry contrast to her olive complexion.

"Do you mean, this leettle boy is really a champion?" Fleur asked Maxime.

Harry felt a ripple of anger somewhere under his numb disbelief.

Karkaroff gave a nasty laugh.

"Yes, please, Dumbledore, explain to us when policy came to allow two Champions for the host school? We were of course under the impression your ageline would prevent younger students from entering."

"It's no one's fault but Potter's, Karkaroff," said Professor Snape silkily. "We mustn't mistakenly blame his protectors, when the boy has been determined to break rules since he first set foot in this school-"

"Thank you, Severus," said Dumbledore firmly, and Snape quieted, but still stared malevolently at Harry from behind his curtains of greasy black hair.

"Harry, did you enter you name into the Goblet?" Dumbledore asked, calmly.

"No," Harry answered.

"Did you ask an older student to enter your name for you?"

"No!" said Harry.

But other heads were shaking.

"Of course, 'e is lying!" said Maxime.

"He could not have crossed the age line, and he says he hasn't asked another student-" Professor McGonagall began.

"No! This is ridiculous. Regardless of how, surely he must be disqualified. Mr. Crouch, Mr. Bagman, you are both impartial. This must be handled!"

Silence followed Karkaroff's tirade. Everyone looked to Mr. Crouch, whose eyes rose eerily as he stood in the dark shadows.

"We must observe the rules of the Goblet, and these rules state clearly that the names chosen by the Goblet of Fire are magically bound to compete in the Triwizard Tournament," he said curtly.

"Well! That's settled then," Bagman nervously chuckled, sweat on his forehead, "Barty knows the rules inside and out, and they seem straightforward."

"This is most unjust!" Madame Maxime protested.

"Indeed, I little expected an underhand attempt of the sort, after all of our negotiations," said Karkaroff coldly, "I have half a mind to leave now!"

"Empty threats, Headmaster," a voice growled from the door.

Everyone turned to see Professor Moody, his eye spinning grotesquely, limping into the room.

"Your student has to compete. They all have to compete. Very convenient, I'd say, if someone wanted to put Potter forward. Extremely suspect!"

Karkaroff flinched, but his voice remained cold.

"What paranoia is this, Mad-Eye? Surely, you don't teach your students to suspect death threats around every corner?" said Karkaroff, contemptuosly.

"The students whose names are drawn must compete," Moody repeated, "Dumbledore just said so, and a powerful magical relic forgetting there are only three champions in the tournament is no mistake. Question is, who's entered the boy?"

"Zat is obvious- someone who wished Hogwarts to 'ave two chances at the prize," said Madame Maxime.

"I don't think so, this would have been a lot of work to set Potter up to enter a highly dangerous tournament, under all of our noses, too, as a matter of fact. It seems everyone here is complaining but Potter!"

"But why should 'e complain? 'E gets this chance, a chance the rest of us 'ave dreamed of, would die for!" Fleur stamped a foot in frustration.

"Maybe someone is hoping Potter will die for it."

"Moody, old friend, what a thing to say..." Bagman trailed off.

"How this situation arose, we do not know," Professor Dumbledore's voice rang around the stone room, "however, it would appear that the rules of the Goblet and the tournament require all four to compete; we must accept, therefore, that both Cedric and Harry are Hogwarts Champions."

Harry raised his eyes. Karkaroff looked livid, Snape furious and Maxime protested.

"But, Dumbly-dorr-"

"Dear Madame Maxime, if you have a suggestion, I'll be delighted to hear it."

At her silence, it was Bagman who jumped in.

"Excellent! Well, Champions," he rubbed his hands together cheerfully, "let us kick this off, shall we? Barty, will you start us off?"

"Yes. The instructions. The first task."

Barty Crouch looked ill, Harry thought, and skull-like as he explained in a bored tone that the task would be on November 24th, in front of a stadium of spectators, they were not to have help from anyone in the tasks, and would be armed only with their wands. They would be exempt from year-end exams.

"Yes! Now, the First Task is designed to test your daring," Bagman beamed at Fleur, Harry, Cedric and Krum.

"You won't be told what you will be facing; Courage in the face of the unknown is very important!"

"Thank you, Mr. Bagman, Mr. Crouch. Would anyone like a nightcap?" Dumbledore suggested.

Karkaroff and Maxime, however, were already moving to the door with their champions. Harry wished he could leave too. But he was still under the intense scrutiny of three of his professors.

"Come on, then, Barty, I'm staying! I mean to say you look awful, a good night's rest would do you wonders, I'd say."

"No, Ludo, I'll be needed at the ministry. Good night, Headmaster," Crouch nodded curtly.

Off you go too, then, Cedric, Harry," Dumbledore said, "and enjoy celebrating with your houses."

Harry took off through the door.

"So, we're pitted against each other again," Cedric smiled.

"How did you get your name chosen, anyway?"

"Didn't. I didn't enter myself," Harry said.

"Alright, then," said Cedric, skeptically, "Good night!"

He obviously didn't believe Harry. Would anyone besides Ron and Hermione believe Harry hadn't wanted to be Champion? He approached the portrait hole to Gryffindor tower with trepidation.

A wizened, old witch from a portrait in the chamber, below, had appeared at The Fat Lady's side.

"So! Who's been named the school champion then?" said The Fat Lady.

"Balderdash," said Harry.

"It most certainly is not!" cried the ancient, gray witch indignantly.

"No, no, Vi, that's the password," The Fat Lady soothed her friend, and her portrait swung open.

A roar hit him in full as the entire population of Gryffindor tower descended on Harry, competing to hand him butterbeer, food, and to ask how he'd fooled the Goblet.

"How did you enter?" they kept asking him.

"I didn't!" He denied vehemently, but no one seemed to hear him. The students, who just wanted to celebrate a Gryffindor champion, had all but forgotten Diggory and, worst of all, Harry's two best friends were nowhere near.

Fred and George pushed Harry into a central couch, and Lee draped a Gryffindor banner over it like a throne. Someone put something like a crown on his head, and still they pressed in on him, talking loudly at him, pushing food into his hands.

Giving up on answering anyone, Harry noticed Neville was a few feet away, watching him with an oddly worried expression on his round face. Glancing around first, Harry turned toward Neville.

"Neville, get me out of here," he mouthed.

Neville's eyes widened, and he ducked down, immediately lost amongst a cluster of chattering fifth years. Harry didn't know where to look. He could hear spirited students talking to him and about him, as though through an echoey tunnel.

Suddenly, a chain of explosions startled the common room! Harry barely had time to search out the source before Neville had reappeared around the end of the couch and grabbed him by the arm.

Harry stood up, gratefully ducking behind Neville as they crept up the stairs.

"I knicked Fred and George's wet-start fireworks. You can go ahead, I'll watch the door a minute," Neville said with concern, when they had reached the fourth years' door. "You're alright?"

"Yeah, I just want some quiet."

Neville nodded.

Inside the dormitory, Harry crossed to his four-poster, wrenched the curtains open and sat, dazed, on his bed. It was a long moment before he registered another presence and learned where Ron had been. Ron was sitting on his own bed, staring over at Harry.

"So?"

"So," said Harry.

He was trying to sort the thoughts spinning in his head. Dumbledore was letting him stay entered. Snape had accused him of entering his own name. Moody had believed someone wanted to kill him. Maxime and Karkaroff had been livid. Fleur's voice, "Leettle boy", and Cedric's polite disbelief were still vaguely irritating.

"The portrait lady, Violet, said Dumbledore is letting you be Champion..."

"Yeah."

"So, then, how did you enter?" Ron asked curiously.

"I didn't enter, I was telling the truth. I couldn't have passed an age line Dumbledore set down."

"Right, so someone else entered you. You can at least tell me the truth," he said, "and I don't know why you'd bother to lie, anyway. Everyone knows you've entered, and Violet told The Fat Lady you're not in trouble. A thousand galleons prize money, eh? And you don't have to write tests this year, either..."

"I didn't enter!" Harry said, trying to sound alright, but he felt wearied from saying it over and over.

"I always told you I wasn't interested..."

"Fine. Only, you never did say you weren't going to enter, and you were the one who mentioned entering at night in secret. And you've got the invisibility cloak," Ron added, suspiciously.

"Don't believe me then, if you think you're so smart," Harry said angrily.

He yanked his curtains closed with malice. He felt choked. He'd been sure that at least Ron would believe him. It seemed the whole school was ready to believe Harry was an attention-seeking cheat.

-Hermione:-

Hermione watched the Great Hall empty slowly, and overheard partial conversations about Harry being a cheat and stealing Cedric's thunder. She surreptitiously made her way to the chamber door, stopping just outside to listen.

The professors had hurried in moments earlier, after dismissing the students to bed. She overheard Dumbledore speaking.

"Harry, did you enter you name into the Goblet?" Dumbledore asked, calmly.

"No," Harry answered.

"Did you ask an older student to enter your name for you?"

"No!" said Harry.

There were noises of disagreement.

"Of course, 'e is lying!" said Maxime.

"He could not have crossed the age line, and he says he hasn't asked another student-"

Hermione gasped in disbelief. Though shocked that older students could enter younger ones, in a binding and legal competition, she continued to listen intently.

"...rules state clearly that the names chosen by the Goblet of Fire are magically bound to compete in the Triwizard Tournament," Mr. Crouch was saying.

Just then she heard a scrape and shuffle. She jumped, and saw Professor Moody approaching from her side of the door. He raised his one eyebrow at her, said nothing, and entered the chamber.

"Empty threats, Headmaster," she heard Professor Moody growl, "Your student has to compete. They all have to compete. Very convenient, I'd say, if someone wanted to put Potter forward. Extremely suspect!"

She heard a Karkaroff object, then Professor Moody's low growl again.

"The students whose names are drawn have to compete. Dumbledore just said so..."

Did Professor Dumbledore say that? Hermione thought it had been Mr. Crouch's voice, defending the rules.

"...and a powerful magical relic forgetting there are only three champions in the tournament is no mistake. Question is, who's entered the boy?"

Hermione was flabbergasted. She couldn't tell whether the others had been convinced that something dangerous was afoot, but she heard Professor Dumbledore agreeing with Professor Moody- he was keeping Harry in the tournament! Could that be lawful, he a minor, and without a parent's consent? Could they not somehow dispute the magical contract?

Hermione turned on her heel and swept across the hall. She'd go to the library and find out just which kind of magical law was keeping Harry in the tournament. After all, given his connection to You-Know-Who and his age, he could be in far more danger than any other of the champions.


	15. Chapter 15: The Aftermath

****A short note*** this story and characters are all from JK Rowling, I've just borrowed them.  
And, I've been writing my own version of Harry's fourth year events for fun. But the last few months haven't all been fun. I've had real difficulty continuing on with editing, let alone writing, so today's chapter hasn't even been reviewed today. I decided just to post it as is.  
I'm still hoping to continue my full re-telling, and to post more of the chapters I've already written.  
Thank you for reading!  
****

Chapter 15: The Aftermath

Hermione awoke bleary-eyed Sunday morning, and it took her a moment to remember why she felt so dreadful. Then she sat up as though she'd been electric-shocked. The other girls were fast asleep so she dressed silently and slipped out the dormitory door, down the spiral staircase. The common room, however, was surprisingly full for a weekend. Colin and Dennis Creevey bolted towards her as soon as her shoes touched the rug.

"Alright, Hermione? Where's Harry?"

"D'you think Harry will win the tournament?"

"Does he have special abilities?"

"D'you know what the tasks will be?"

"D'you-"

"Sorry, gotta run!" Hermione quickly reached the portrait handle and left the common room.

Hermione rushed to the Great Hall, while thinking over last night. She wasn't one for predicting the future, but the signs were all starting to add up and she didn't like it. Firstly, Harry's dream. There had only been one but it had been strangely specific. Secondly, the Dark Mark at the World Cup. It had been dismissed as a prank, but people didn't just terrorize an international gathering without having a plan, that would be just plain stupid. Lupin's letter to Harry had mentioned "dark wizards" and an "international event". If Harry's entry was somehow a plot related to You-Know-Who, this Triwizard Tournament could become very dangerous. And finally, Professor Dumbledore was not trying to get Harry out of the tournament. This worried her most of all.

"Good morning," said Hermione, as she joined Ron, "You're awake early for a Sunday."

Ron grunted.

"Charming."

"Seen Harry?"

"Not this morning. I came straight down to breakfast and I assume he'll be down directly, or else be tackled by enthused Creeveys."

"So did he tell you, then? How he managed it?" Ron asked nonchalantly, but he was staring at his bacon.

"He doesn't know who entered his name. Didn't he tell you last night?" Hermione asked.

Ron made a sound like air escaping a tire.

"You do believe him... Come on, Ron, he's our friend!" said Hermione.

"Some friend, partying it up and then acting like I'm the idiot for thinking he signed on. I mean, it's the obvious conclusion!"

"I think, when you've worked through your jealousy, Ronald, you'll find Harry is being truthful. I'm going to bring him some breakfast, want to join me?"

Ron shook his head.

Hermione sighed and stacked some toast on a napkin to take upstairs.

-•-Harry-•-

"Hello. Want to go for a walk?"

Harry had just come through the portrait of the Fat Lady looking severely chagrined. His hair was a mess, his face pale. He eyed the tower of toast gratefully.

"Good idea."

The two set off for the castle's front doors.

Harry was walking over Hogwarts' sweeping lawn alongside Hermione and picking at some buttered wheat toast. They were approaching the lake when he finished telling her about the conversations in the chamber last night.

"Of course you didn't enter yourself! Anyone who'd seen your face would know that. I'm just worried about who entered you! Professor Moody's right, Harry...no student could have tricked the Goblet, or the age line-"

"Did you see Ron?" Harry interrupted.

Hermione sighed.

"Well, yes, he was at breakfast."

"Does he still think I entered myself?"

"Probably not," Hermione said awkwardly.

"Why, 'probably not'?" Harry asked feeling irritated.

"Oh, Harry, he's just... got hurt feelings is all, and he's not going to get over them in the space of a minute."

"That," said Harry, aiming a kick at a rock, "makes no sense at all." The rock tumbled into the lake.

"He's obviously jealous. He didn't see what went on in the chamber, just all of the Gryffindors celebrating-"

"Then he should ask me! And I told him. The whole time, I said I wasn't interested. If he seriously wants this, he can take it. Give him some Polyjuice and he can have the scar too, only tell him it comes with a maniac who wants him dead!"

Harry chucked a piece of toast as far as he could into the lake.

"That's NOT funny, Harry," Hermione said, shooting him an anxious look.

"Anyway, Harry, I think you ought to write Sirius and Lupin about this... you know, like we agreed to do if something else strange happened."

"I don't know... what can him knowing really help?"

"Look at it this way. He will find out when this whole situation goes public, and the more support you have, the better!"

Harry groaned, and smoothed his hair down.

"Okay, I'll write to him."

They marched up to the owlery in silence. They found the tower deserted. Hermione pulled some parchment, a quill and ink from her robes pockets.

Harry rolled out the parchment onto the parapet, but couldn't think what to write. Instead he tapped the quill thoughtfully, and sounded out loud.

"Dear Sirius, please come flying in on Buckbeak as I've decided to skive off fourth year because I'm entered against my will in the Triwizard Tournament opposite three wonder kids... "

Hermione laughed.

"Not quite, try again... "

Harry couldn't think how to put into words the heaviness and anxiety he'd been feeling since yesterday. He dipped the quill into the ink, and scratched a message.

'Dear Padfoot,

I suppose you'll find out soon, Hogwarts is hosting the Triwizard Tournament. Ludo Bagman and Crouch are organizing it. There is a champion from Beaubatons, from Durmstrang and Cedric Diggory from Hogwarts. And me, a fourth champion. They say once the Goblet of Fire chooses champions, they have to do their best or it breaks the contract. Dumbledore seems to believe so, though the other judges aren't pleased. Moody, the ex-Auror, is teaching here. He reckons someone's out to get me. So there's that. Hope you had a nice Halloween. Say hi to Buckbeak, and stay safe.

Sincerely,

Harry'

He scratched a similar, though shorter note for Lupin, though addressed it to "Moony" this time since Lupin had mentioned keeping his identity quiet. He cast a secrecy charm on both parchments.

"Finished," Harry said. And Hedwig swooped down from the rafters, landing on Hermione's extended arm.

"Hi, Hedwig," she cooed.

"Hello, are you up for a long trip? It's for Sirius, and this one for Lupin," Harry whispered.

Hedwig gave a dignified hoot and lifted her talons so Harry could tie the messages on. They watched her soar away, soon untraceable in the white autumn sky.

If Harry had thought the Triwizard unpleasantness might boil over quickly, he would despair of this the following day. It wasn't only Ron, but all the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws, who seemed to have decided that he, the famous Harry Potter, was desperate for glory. Monday led with a very cold Herbology lesson, and not because it was outdoors. Hermione tried awkwardly to draw Ron and Harry into conversation but they were, for the most part, silent. If Ron wanted to be a prat and ignore him, then Harry wasn't going to try and get him talking.

He paced angrily toward Care of Magical Creatures, seething at Ron while simultaneously dreading to meet the Slytherins. No support could be expected from that quarter, as he'd helped Gryffindor House beat them at the Quidditch Championship, and House Cup, far too often.

Draco Malfoy saw Harry coming. "Oh, look, it's the Champion! Boys, get your autograph books, because I doubt he'll be around much longer... Do you know half the past champions have died? How long do you think you'll last, Potter? My bet is ten minutes into the First Task."

Crabbe and Goyle guffawed sycophantically, but Malfoy had to stop there because Hagrid had emerged from his cabin carrying several massive buckets by the handles.

"Mornin', class!"

"Those aren't to feed Skrewts again, are they?" Dean asked, nervously.

"No, er, bad news, class... the Skrewts bin killin' each other. I only saved about twenty, but got to keep them caged separately, now."

The class exchanged rather relieved looks.

"Instead we're moving right along to Frost Salamanders. You remember Salamanders don't ya, well these are rarer; harder to catch, harder to care for. Salamanders need heat from fire, but these Frost Salamanders need the cold. You'll study these for a few lessons, then write an essay to compare treatment of scale rot."

"Harry," Hagrid said, "come and help me bring more ice."

This was an excuse, however, to talk to Harry about the Tournament. Hagrid had a really worried look in his eyes.

"So you're competing then. As the school Champion."

"One of them," Harry corrected.

"No idea who put you up fer it?"

"You believe I didn't do it, then?" said Harry, concealing how grateful it actually made him feel.

"'Course I do. You say it wasn't you, an' I believe yeh - an' Dumbledore, y'know, believes you, too," Hagrid grunted.

"I only wish I knew who did set me up for it," Harry said bitterly. It seemed knowing would solve almost everything; the school would know the truth... and Ron.

Hagrid sighed suddenly, looking down at Harry.

"I don't know, Harry... now you're school Champion... seems like everything happens ter you, doesn't it?"

Harry didn't answer. Yes it did, and according to Hermione, that was probably why Ron wouldn't talk to him.

"Oy, you lot! Wear your dragon hide gloves if you're gonna touch 'em, or yeh'll get frostbite!" Hagrid shouted.

Harry was very near wishing he could take off on the back of a hippogriff over the next week. That was saying a lot, considering how much he felt that Hogwarts castle was his home. The nearest he'd been to this miserable in the past was when he was suspected of attacking students in second year. Ron had been on his side back then. He guessed he could see why everyone supported Cedric, however, who looked the hero part. His good looks, dark hair and grey eyes had girls stalking Cedric for autographs as much as they did Krum. Still, receiving dislike from all sides was lonely. Hedwig was still gone. Harry now sat alone in Divination twice a week and tried not to notice Ron, while Trelawney would gleefully lament Harry's imminent demise. Harry was also sort of sharing Hermione with Ron, as neither would break the stubborn silence.

He'd meet up with Hermione after classes in the library. He was there today after double Divination, writing out his Transfiguration essay at one of the corner tables. He was just thinking he could really use her advice on it, when he sensed someone approaching.

"Hi, Harry."

He looked up and Cedric, in his black and yellow Hufflepuff tie and grey sweater, stood in front of his table.

"Hullo, Cedric," Harry managed with a small smile.

"I've just come from the hospital wing. There was an incident. In the dungeons. Hermione- She's alright," he said quickly, as Harry sent his textbook flying, "I just thought you'd like to know."

Cedric smiled in a calming sort of way, and held the doors to the library open for Harry who streaked out, clumsily dragging up his book bag. The only thought in his mind was a picture of Hermione in a hospital bed.

"But what happened?" said Harry.

He was seated in a wooden chair, pulled up next to a cot in the hospital wing. Hermione was sitting up, though, still in her school robes and settled on top of the cot, the sheets tucked neatly beneath her.

"It wasn't anything much, I've just learned a new spell," she answered, "Desaugneo."

"Why were you in the dungeons after Arithmancy?"

Harry was puzzled. Hermione didn't look to be upset or hurt. Perhaps her hair was a bit tousled and her cheeks pink.

"I'd gone to the kitchens after class, actually, and met with some of the Slytherins on the way down.

"And, Draco Malfoy was still entertaining people about you being in danger of...of dying in the Tournament. He thought it would be hilarious to tease me that you'd be dead soon."

With a faint smile, she continued, "So I thought I'd remind him that he could barely survive a Care of Magical Creatures class... and he shot a spell at me."

"What did the spell do?"

"Doesn't matter," she said quickly, "anyway, I can handle Malfoy."

"Right. Only, the whole school is obsessed with this tournament, it's a hundred times as crazy as inter-house Quidditch. Will we have to skirt those losers all year?"

Hermione chewed her lip distractedly.

"I had a thought about that, actually, Harry," said Hermione.

Harry waited.

"Alright, don't judge this too quickly. I had just been thinking about how Professor Dumbledore allowed you to compete even though he believes you weren't responsible for entering, and though I know it would take ages to sort out Wizarding Law for the Goblet's contract, and throw a wrench in the tournament for The Ministry, I also know he'll be watching out for anything suspicious-"

"Hermione? You've lost me."

Hermione took a deep breath.

"I think you should play up your champion status."

"Come again?"

"You said it, Harry, the entire school is watching. The media will be watching and Professor Dumbledore has to just let it play out. It's your choice whether to appear the victim, or pretend to be the confident hero they're expecting!

"Either way, Harry, I'll know, and Professor Dumbldore and Hagrid will know, how you really feel, but acting confident will intimidate anyone who's against you!"

Harry sat and pondered this, then looked up again at Hermione's smug expression.

"Okay," he grinned, "I'm a regular champion! And you're the champion's best friend, so I'll somehow have to make sure no one bothers you when you're off to the kitchens."

"It's fine, Harry, I just won't walk around alone... You should go have dinner. Madame Pomfrey will let me go any minute."

"Wait..."

Thinking of Hermione and the kitchens had given him an idea.

"Dobby?" he said.

Crack! The bat-eared house-elf appeared in his tea cozy hat and mismatched socks.

"Harry Potter, sir!"

"Hi, Dobby," Harry grinned, "Listen, if Hermione or I called you, would you be able to find us and help us shake off Malfoy?"

"Harry-"

"Well, it might not be only Malfoy the next time. You shouldn't have to worry about scheming Slytherins when you're coming and going from the library and the kitchens."

"Dobby would be honoured, Harry Potter, sir! Call on Dobby any time, day or night, I will appear to help!" vowed the green-eyed elf.

Hermione looked like she wasn't certain how she liked this idea.

"Thank you, Dobby," said Harry.

This led Dobby to squeeze Harry's legs very tightly, his eyes all watery.

"Can I escort you now, Sir and Miss?" he squeaked.

"No, thanks Dobby, Harry was just going to dinner," said Hermione.

"Dinner is over in the Great Hall! Can Dobby bring you dinner from the kitchens?"

The elf looked so excited that Hermione had to laugh.

"Okay, thank you, Dobby, we'd love some dinner!"

Dobby vanished with a crack, leaving Harry sitting with his legs crossed on the edge of the cot and smirking at the petulant look on Hermione's face.

Charms class was uncomfortable, to say the least, the Ravenclaws were overtly disapproving of Harry. They were starting to learn Summoning Charms, but thoughts like 'Go away', or 'Leave me alone', kept intruding on Harry's concentration. Angry and no nearer summoning a pillow from Flitwick's desk, Harry left charms to Flitwick's exhortation to, "practice, practice!"

Friday's double Potions lessons were nearly torture. For an hour and an half, Snape was horrible and turned a blind eye as the Slytherins punished Harry for becoming a Hogwarts Champion.

"Ignore them, ignore them, ignore them," Hermione would whisper, as Harry struggled to focus.

Today's lesson was no different.

"Antidotes," said Snape, leering unpleasantly, "You should all have prepared your recipe by now. You will brew it carefully, and then I will select someone on whom to test one..."

Snape's black eyes met Harry's, and he who knew what was coming. Snape was going to poison him. He felt anger from the entire week about to crash over him like a wave, and resisted the urge to hurl his cauldron at the Potions Master.

There was a faint knock on the dungeon door and Colin Creevey appeared, pattering up to Snape's desk.

"Yes?"

"Please, sir, I'm supposed to take Harry Potter upstairs," said Colin, who beamed at Harry.

Snape offered a withering stare.

"Potter has an hour of Potions to complete. He will go upstairs when class has ended."

Colin went pink in the face, however, he wasn't a Gryffindor for nothing.

"Sir, Mr. Bagman wants him, and all the Champions for the rest of the day!"

"Fine! Prepare yourself for a failing grade, Potter, and get out of my sight!"

"Thank you, Professor," Harry muttered.

As Harry slipped his book bag over his shoulder he leaned past Hermione.

"Are you sure this is going to be alright?" he muttered under his breath.

"Absolutely," she whispered.

Having escaped the fumey dungeon, Harry was glad for the first time ever to see the excitable Creevey boy.

"Thanks, Colin. So what am I going for?"

"I think it's your interview for the Daily Prophet! It's really amazing, isn't it, that you're the Champion?"

"Yeah. Amazing," said Harry, heavily.

"This classroom," said Colin, when they arrived at a door partway down one of the corridors off of the Entrance Hall. "Good luck!"

-•-Hermione-•-

In the dungeon corridor, after Potions, Hermione hastened to catch up with Ron to ask for a word.

"Yeah?" Ron said, looking suspicious.

"I wanted to let you know, Ron, that Harry's going to be dogged by the media soon, about the First Task. He needs to appear really confident to deal with the Slytherins and the reporters," she began, staunchly, "I've told him to-"

"As if that's anything new," Ron scoffed, "He's been fine with this thing since it happened. Of course, he's had years of experience being famous, so I reckon it's business as usual!"

"Ron, that's horrible. Harry doesn't want this."

"I'm surprised you don't see it. Or, you probably do, and just want a share of his attention. Why don't you stick with Harry, the boy wonder, and everyone will notice you're the brains behind him?"

Ron finished with a pernicious glare.

"Ron, you foul cockroach, you don't talk to me again unless it's to apologize," said Hermione in a voice like ice.

Ron turned on his heal and stalked around the corner.


	16. Chapter 16: Weighing of the Wands

****A short note*** this story and characters are all from JK Rowling, I've just borrowed them. I love Harry Potter. Goes without saying, I say it anyway!  
Thank you for reading!  
****

Chapter 16: The Weighing of the Wands

Harry was standing in the deserted corridor off of The Entrance Hall. He gripped his wand and, lifting it to ear-level, murmured, 'Capos Stillum!' He felt his hair smooth back. He adjusted his red-and-gold tie, smoothed the collar of his shirt and knocked.

The door opened.

"Harry, my boy! Excellent, excellent."

Mr. Bagman was leading Harry by his shoulder into a classroom that had become a makeshift studio. In robes of deep plum today, he looked like a paunchy eggplant.

Desks were draped in black velvet, behind which the three older champions were already seated. In the fourth seat, a woman with shockingly rigid, curly hair and a magenta cloak was raptly contemplating a surly Viktor Krum. Across the room, Harry noticed the photographer from the Opening Ceremony was twirling his wand at a tripod.

"Here we are, the fourth Champion has arrived!" Bagman announced.

"Harry, this is Rita Skeeter of the Daily Prophet-"

"Lovely!"

The woman hopped off the stool. Harry's eyes met her bejewelled spectacles and heavy-jawed smile as Rita Skeeter shook his hand.

"I wonder if I could have a word with Harry before we start," she said to Bagman, "to add a bit of colour about the youngest Champion for our avid readers?"

"Certainly!" Bagman cried.

Harry noticed that Skeeter's eyes never once moved from his lightening bolt scar. This woman, her bearing and her expression, were positively repugnant.

"Great. I'll have a seat here, then, shall I?' said Harry, extricating the arm of his robes from the grip of her two-inch, magenta fingernails.

Harry settled himself onto the stool. He breathed in deeply, as though he could inhale confidence itself.

"Yes, yes, have a seat! The other judges will arrive any moment for the wand weighing ceremony, which serves to test that your most important tool is up to snuff!" said Bagman, who winked at Harry and gestured energetically to Karkaroff and Maxime. The two were at the edge of the classroom and casting dubious glares in his direction.

"Harry, why don't we go somewhere a little less noisy, and-"

"No, I'm alright with the group," Harry interrupted Skeeter's invitation. Instead, he stood behind the table to lean past Krum and Fleur.

"Cedric," Harry said, as he offered the brown-haired boy his hand, "Thanks for your help yesterday."

Cedric shook his hand with a startled smile.

"It was nothing, Harry!"

Turning, Harry looked to Fleur Delaceur next, whose silvery hair was shimmering down to her waist as she perched lightly on her seat.

"Miss Delaceur? I wanted to introduce myself. I'm Harry Potter."

Good manners and sportsmanship, Hermione had said, would give him a guise of confidence. The willowy young woman looked at him appraisingly.

"Eet is nice to meet you, 'arry. You may call me Fleur," she said self-assuredly, in a heavy French accent. With a piercing blue-eyed gaze, she too reached to shake his hand.

"It's good to see you again, Viktor, how are you?" Harry addressed the third champion, pretending the older boy was just another Hufflepuff quidditch opponent, and not the skilled seeker he'd watched in the World Cup match!

"Vell, I thank you," said Krum, nodding curtly.

Harry then returned to his stool. He watched Skeeter fidget with the clasp of her crocodile skin handbag for a moment, then, glancing to the door, she appeared to re-animate.

"Lovely!" she cried, and pulled out parchment and a quill from her bag.

"Now, Harry, what made you decide to enter the tournament?"

"Oh, I suspect Cedric Diggory entered me. He's well aware I stand between Hufflepuff and the Quidditch Championship every year," said Harry, with a straight face.

Skeeter's face and quill froze simultaneously. Harry looked over at Cedric whose incredulity was plain.

"Only joking, mate," said Harry, cheerfully.

"Friendly rivalry, how heartwarming! And... would you say you're excited to compete, Harry?"

"No, I wouldn't say I'm excited. To be Hogwarts' champion is an honor... but it was Cedric's honor first. I never wanted to be school's secondary champion," he answered, paraphrasing his premeditated answer from an earlier planning session with Hermione.

"Very interesting! Do you think, Harry, that it's important to you to you live up to your name, after the tragic events of your young past?"

"No, Ma'am. I'm just a normal student at Hogwarts school, no one treats me any differently."

Harry noticed, in his side vision, that Krum was considering him carefully.

"How," Skeeter leaned forward cravingly, "do you think your parents would have felt about you entering such a dangerous tournament?"

Harry could feel her eyes, and those of the adjacent Champions, boring into his face. He felt a flash of anger in his chest at the mention of his dead parents. What kind of question was that? Who knew what they would think? But, Hermione had been right, it was surprisingly easy to remain cool-headed while he was focused on playing a part. He looked the witch in the eye for a long moment before answering.

"I've heard some students worry that I'll be hurt or killed," Harry said in a regretful tone, "but they should recall that Professor Dumbledore and the Ministry have precautions in place to avoid deaths this time."

"Very brave! Who in particular is most worried about your safety, Harry?"

"I suppose, my friend Hermione," said Harry, caught off guard at so specific a question. His answer seemed to have pleased the long-fingered woman.

"So, this Hermione is your girlfriend, Harry? What is she-"

"Ahem!"

A very loud throat-clearing announced the arrival of the lean, yet formidable and white-bearded headmaster. The crocodile-skin bag had surreptitiously swallowed the parchment and quill, which, Harry just now realized, had been of some self-inking, self-spelling variety. Skeeter leaped up with exuberance.

"Dear Dumbledore, how very charming!" she said.

"Indeed, I do my best, Miss Skeeter," said Dumbledore, "thank you for joining us to lend your... unique view to our event. Now I believe we have a ceremony to commence."

Rita Skeeter retreated to a desk chair with an air of self-satisfaction.

Mr. Crouch had appeared alongside Dumbledore in addition to a wan and grey-haired wizard whose peering, translucent irises Harry would never forget.

"Judges, guests, champions, may I introduce Mr. Ollivander, of Ollivanders wands? Our most sincere thanks, sir, for joining us today," Dumbledore intoned, before taking his seat opposite the champions with the other judges.

"Yes, well, my pleasure," Mr. Ollivander readily rejoined, "Left to right, then shall we, Mr. Diggory?"

Olivander reverently caressed the wand he was presented with by Cedric. They could hear him sigh sentimentally and begin to speak with a rasp, as though to himself.

"Yes, I remember well, unicorn hair and ash... a fiercely stubborn wand, indeed, yes, the unicorn nearly gored me after plucking his tail... pleasantly springy... "

He gave the wand a wave to emit a few lofting smoke rings, before declaring it to be "in vital condition!"

The snapping of a camera shutter could be heard as Cedric received his wand.

"Miss Delaceur, next, if you please?"

She floated up from the table, passing her glossy wand to Ollivander.

"My, my," he said quietly, "nine and a half inches... inflexible... rosewood... and containing, dear me..."

"An 'air from ze 'ead of a Veela," Fleur sniffed, "One of my Grandmuzzer's."

"Yes," he said, disapprovingly, "to each his own, though I have never used Veela hair myself, it tends toward temperamental... however...'Orchideous'!"

He produced from Fleur's wand a lush bouquet of flowers, and pronounced it to be in fine working order.

Next he called, "Mr. Krum, please!"

Krum slouched forward and, scowling, thrust his wand out to Mr. Ollivander.

"Hmmm, a Gregorovitch creation, if I'm not mistaken?"

Not waiting for an answer, the old man continued.

"Hornbeam and dragon heartstring... rather rigid... ten and a quarter inches. 'Avis!'" Several tiny, twittering birds flew into the air.

"Good," he said, allowing Krum his wand.

"And, Mr. Potter..."

Harry was deeply concerned that the eccentric wandmaker would deign to tell the room about the wand's phoenix feather core. It had an unfortunate connection, in being from the very same phoenix which had provided the core of Lord Voldemort's own wand. This no one else knew besides Harry and Ollivander for Harry was fond of his wand and didn't like to hold its unfortunate, rotten relations against it. Thankfully seeming content to mumble about holly, phoenix feather and eleven inches, Ollivander keenly studied the wand before conjuring a fountain of wine.

"Perfect!"

Although the camera had been obnoxiously snapping photos throughout the ceremony, the Champions were obligated to sit for group photos next. This was tedious. The judges couldn't just stand behind the Champions' table, for Maxime towered above everyone, casting a wide shadow. Ultimately, Maxime sat behind everyone else, the four other judges standing beside her, and the champions in front of the velvet table. Cedric and Harry were posed back-to-back, their wands held at their sides, Fleur with her hands clasped gracefully, and Viktor next to her, arms casually crossed over his broad chest. Skeeter was evidently angling to get photos of Harry alone, but Harry hastily struck up a conversation with Cedric. When the group finally dispersed, the two were actually laughing together about his earlier insinuation that Hufflepuff hated Harry.

As dinner would begin shortly, Professor Dumbledore had invited everyone to attend the Great Hall for dinner. As Harry proceeded through the classroom door with Cedric, Fleur, and Viktor, he noticed the others were no longer shooting disdainful glances at him. Had they decided he was not just a careless child? Fleur in particular seemed to examine the composure which veiled Harry's discomfort, and he thought he wasn't imagining a look of begrudging respect in her features.

"Good luck in the tournament," Harry said sincerely, before leaving the group to join the Gryffindor table.

Harry allowed himself a small smile as he sat down to his steak and kidney pie. He'd managed to exude confidence and, most importantly, an air of indifference. He hoped he'd evade the worst of the school's interest in his participation, if not that of the public.


	17. Chapter 17: Skeeter

Chapter 17 : Skeeter

Harry had gone to sleep early and awoke at 6am to dress for Quidditch training. His hair was back to normal, sticking up at the back and flopping haphazard over his scar, which was fine for Quidditch.

Hermione met him in the common room, toting a stack of heavy-looking books, and looking preoccupied.

"'Morning. Breakfast?" said Hermione.

Harry nodded.

Tucking into toast and pumpkin juice in the nearly empty Great Hall, Harry listened to Hermione's morning chatter.

"So, when the Daily Prophet arrives today, you mustn't appear concerned. In fact, I'll read it for you and give you the gist," said Hermione, graciously, "People will want drama, so being calm will most strongly negate any lies about you, Harry!"

Harry nodded.

"Library this afternoon?" he asked her.

"Definitely, right after lunch," said Hermione, "in the hidden study room. I can finish up the badges while you look over Summoning Charm theory."

She looked at him sternly then, and Harry knew she thought he wasn't trying. But he honestly seemed blocked when it came to this charm! So far, he'd accomplished most charms very quickly this year, but since the Goblet gobbed his name out, his brain had been a scrambled mess of nerves.

"Yeah. I'll work it out eventually. Maybe flying will help clear my head! I'm off," he said by way of goodbye.

"See you after!" Hermione said from inside the book that she had balanced against a jug of pumpkin juice.

Down at the pitch, Harry met with Angelina, Alicia, Katie, Fred, George and Derek, a third year with quick reflexes. Harry guessed the novelty of training without playing games had worn thin for most. Angelina ran them through basic drills before releasing the snitch and Harry enjoyed speeding over Hogwarts' pitch, swerving around the stands, vaulting high enough to view the grounds, fast enough that colours blurred.

"Forget about us up there, Potter?" smirked Angelina.

Alighting from his broom, he saw the team wrapping up practice. He grinned.

"Thank you for turning up! Wood turned out a stellar team before he graduated. I'm only relieved you lot are helping me keep it going... or I'd have Wood sending me Howlers by the week... that obsessive sod," she said, fondly.

-•- Hermione -•-

Hermione was in the library, nestled in her hidden study alcove. Rather than breezing through her cache of venerable volumes, she was working on a project for Harry. His response following the interview with Skeeter would be crucial. Harry mustn't appear to be upset. They should have known, she thought, that The Ministry would send Skeeter. There was no one better to enliven a simple article on a school tournament with enough human interest to ignite international attention. Hermione, a Daily Prophet subscriber, had already warned her friend that negative press was inevitable. Of course, Skeeter purveyed her truth with a side of lies; in a daily paper, no one had time to dispute her facts before she'd curdled several more truths the following day! This Tournament article was no exception.

 _'When asked what his parents would feel about his exposure to such danger, Harry's eyes betrayed deep emotion and regret, ""I know that my friends are concerned, especially Hermione...and I've heard other students worry that I'll be hurt or killed." A fellow student, Ms. Parkinson, explain_ _ed_ _, "Hermione Granger is a Gryffindor and Muggle-born, very keen on getting attention for her brains and for being friends with Potter! She's very flirtatious, not well-liked and everyone suspects there's a love potion involved... he seems to follow her around everywhere!"_

 _'Our sources also divulge that Harry is no stranger to risking his life. Hogwarts school, of course, was found to have employed a werewolf last year, putting Harry and his peers at risk! A Gryffindor friend, Mr. Creevey, contributed, "Harry faced a basilisk here at school when no one else could, and he saved all the petrified students including me! His dormitory was also invaded last year by Sirius Black! I don't think he's afraid of anything!"_

 _Beyond a doubt, the youngest Champion shows bravery in offering encouragement to his fellow Champion and friendly house-rival, Cedric Diggory (shown in photo A1). Harry also added these words of support for his concerned admirers, entreating that "... they should recall that Professor Dumbledore and the Ministry have precautions in place to avoid deaths this time."_

 _'Fearless, tortured, or insatiable need for attention? We intend to discover the truth for our beloved readers, as the action unfolds during this legendary Triwizard Tournament. *Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent'_

On the whole, Hermione admitted to herself, the article had come off quite well in that Harry had been shown to have friendly rapport with his fellow champions, other students, and with the Headmaster. If she could help it, however, Harry wouldn't find out about Pansy's comment.

She had fashioned badges, like her S.P.E.W. buttons - which she'd set aside but not yet given up on - to cheer on the Hogwarts' Champion. These used a creative, little charm, found in 'Flair for the Flamboyant' by Farrah Konfetty, to flash between an image of Cedric's face, and the sparkling words, "#1 Champion". Harry had actually come up with the badge idea, saying that to hand out badges would be easier than having to say over and over that Cedric was the main Hogwarts Champion. She smiled to herself, pleased that at this rate she'd have about a hundred of these prepared by lunchtime.

-•- Ron -•-

Ron was at breakfast when his family's droopy owl, Errol, tumbled into his porridge. "He's the worse for wear," said Lee Jordan, cheerfully.

Ron shook the ruffled Errol dry and laid him aside to rest, before unfurling a copy of the Daily Prophet. Enclosed was a note from his mum.

'Dear Ron,

Please tell Harry to owl if he needs anything at all! You must be terribly nervous for him, entered in the Triwizard- and at only fourteen- I've half a mind to complain to Dumbledore! As if I'd have allowed you lot out of The Burrow had I thought you could enter such a notorious, deadly tournament! Rita Skeeter seems to have enjoyed meeting Harry. The poor boy was probably scared silly by that odious woman- please tell him we all think well of him!

One more note: Charlie may be visiting Hogwarts soon, so if you have any news, one of you had best owl your father and I straight away!

Be good,

Love, Mum'

The article was on the front page, entitled, 'Harry At Hogwarts: Triwizard Tournament Returns'. Skimming the rag, a blurb caught his eye, ' _Harry Potter, age 14, says he has been treated quite normally at Hogwarts school, but it's not surprising to this reporter that he has_ _found_ _an affinity with the Durmstrang Triwizard Champion, Viktor Krum, who as a Quidditch prodigy and_ _s_ _eeker for the international Bulgarian Team, can relate to young Harry's early fame!'_

Ron spluttered into his pumpkin juice and pushed away from the table. Fred and George looked up, but said nothing as Ron pursed his lips and hastened out of the Great Hall, away from that article.

"I need a word with you," said a voice from behind Ronald Weasley.

Ron felt a hand catch him under the left arm and next thing he knew he'd been yanked from the corridor into a secret passage behind the statue of Gregory the Smarmy.

"Hey!" he protested.

"'Lumos!'" said George.

"'Lumos!'" said Ron, so that each had pointed his own wand upward. The glow from George's wandtip created odd shadows on the older boy's freckled face. Ron thought he might have been staring into his own blue eyes, if George hadn't had a rounder face, and he himself a longer nose. In spite of himself, Ron felt uneasy under his brother's grim gaze.

"What?" Ron said, his eyes narrowed.

"I can see that I'll need to spell things out for you," said George, in exaggerated exasperation. "You and Harry, what's going on there?"

"Eh? I've been telling you, he wouldn't talk to me about the stupid tournament! Completely dissed me."

"Have you tried to ask him about it since?" George asked shrewdly.

"'Course not!" Ron scoffed, "He's too busy being popular with Krum and doing Champion things-"

"Look, I'm just going to ask you a question," George sighed, "Why do you think Fred and I are best friends?"

Ron gaped at him.

"Why... because you're twins, identical! You've known each other forever," added Ron.

"Okay," intoned George, "so, to be best friends, you need to be identical? And to have known each other the longest?"

Ron was starting to suspect subterfuge on George's part.

"Well, yeah, friends have to have things in common and be loyal."

"Well... I'll tell you the reason Fred is my best friend, then, shall I? He accepts that I'm not him. He knows he's Fred, and I'm George. I'll want things he doesn't and he'll do things I don't understand... but we accept that and, even as different people, we like each other."

Ron was dumbstruck. Here was his ever flippant older brother gravely explicating friendship.

"I know Harry's different from me!" Ron's eyes flashed angrily.

"Good," said George, "I just needed to check that you did. We Weasleys will get in a huff and throw a punch and then laugh it off. That's not Harry; he's not going to hit you.

"My advice to you is this... imagine a minute that you have a close friend, the only one who knows and likes the real you, and then decide how far you'll go to keep that friendship, bro," finished George.

-•- Harry -•-

It was lunchtime, but Harry didn't want to spoil his good mood after stowing his Firebolt away, by entering the gossipy Great Hall. No doubt Skeeter's report on the tournament was already widespread among the brunching students.

He nipped into the library on the off chance Hermione was still there. Grasping the sconce to open her alcove, he found it deserted. The solitary table was piled high with books and badges. He fingered one, admiring how beautifully gaudy it was. These would definitely draw attention.

Feeling that it would be pointless to start on Summoning Charms alone, Harry exited the study room. Distractedly proceeding back to the door, he was surprised to notice Cho Chang, the petite Ravenclaw fifth year, who seemed to be restocking books down the aisle.

"Hello, Harry," she said.

"Hi, Cho," said Harry.

She wasn't really stacking the books anymore. As he made to pass her, she turned, flicked her silky, black hair and faced Harry.

"You're really brave, Harry," she said, looking up from beneath her dark eyelashes.

"I know you'll do well in the tournament. Sorry the Ravenclaws are being unsupportive... I just want you to know... some of us don't feel that way."

Harry briefly registered confusion at her oddly soft tone. Cho was standing uncomfortably close, had grasped the loose sleeves of his school robes one in each hand, but was still looking up at him meaningfully.

Harry just wanted his sleeves back.

"I'm... going to lunch," he said, but his voice came out sounding unsure.

"Don't go," she breathed, "You know, your hair is the greatest, all windswept from Quidditch...you're the bravest, and the best-looking champion!"

Immediately taking a step back, Harry realized too late that the adoring girl had taken this as invitation to step forward, still clutching at his sleeves. When they'd competed at Quidditch, he'd always thought Cho seemed a fun person, with a pretty, laughing smile. But this smile was less sincere and he didn't know what to say to make her go away.

"Harry?" A deeply accented voice from the next aisle carried through the cavernous library. Viktor Krum was actually slouching in their direction, eyebrows furrowed.

"I am sorry to interrupt, I vas vondering if I could have a vord, Harry?"

"Um, sure," said Harry with a blush rising in his face like boiling water. But he tugged at his robes sleeves, and Cho conceded them, so Harry followed the foreign wizard out of the aisle. Moments later, the library door could be heard closing.

Viktor said, "I am sorry if... but I thought you might vant help?"

Krum looked uncomfortable. He'd been helping Harry escape Cho's advances, Harry realized.

"Thanks," he said with embarrassment, "I'm sorry...about that..."

"No."

"What?"

"No, do not be sorry."

Krum's eyes were strangely expressive just now, less surly than usual.

"People, they vill not respect your boundaries. You have to tell them... how do you say... strongly? And, I suggest," Viktor said, looking at him briefly in the eyes, "do not walk alone, take a person you trust."

"Oh. Alright," he said.

Harry stared at one of the shelves. Then Viktor Krum, who was still standing there, caught his eye and jerked his head at the library door. Harry followed him to the Great Hall, outside which the Durmstrang boy nodded at him once and walked away.

Harry found Hermione at the Gryffindor table, fastidiously reading and eating. He himself could eat very little. He asked her about the Cedric badges to cover over the silence.

Back in the dormitory that evening, Hedwig was perched sleepily on his school trunk. It seemed like weeks since he'd seen her!

"Welcome home, Hedwig," Harry said quietly.

Without waking the peaceful snowy owl, he deftly released the scroll from her leg. The reply from Sirius was, of course, disguised with a spell. With a murmur and tap of his wand, Harry could now pull the hangings closed round his four-poster and read his godfather's response by wand-light.


End file.
